As I get older I understand that I have many strings that can unravel my very messy knot.
When people say triggers it makes me think that in a little room in someone's mind they are stood against a wall.
A row of guns is perfectly aimed at them.
The room next door is separated by a wall of glass and little red strings are run through holes in the glass.
Those strings are tied to the triggers of the guns.
They are also tied to the concrete wall in the opposite room.
People walk in the other room.
Some can walk through the strings and others cannot.
The person is just sitting there watching as the people walk through their strings and praying that they aren't the one to pull a trigger.
They feel different then gun shots though.
They are tiny prickly, poisonous things.
Like deadly spores.
They scatter across the surface of ones mask of sanity and slowly rot it.
You can't see the spores nor the rot.
Not until it's gagging you with it's nauseating odor and pricking spines.
