Your dirty little secrets are filling up my mind. Acts of confessed sin, or perhaps acts of stupidity in a moment of passion or obfuscation. I am not a priest and offer no form of absolution. Yet, you confess to me what has been done. I know it’s my fault. I encouraged it. You see the gossip monger hidden beneath my blue eyes. I relish to hear the horrible things people have done or are about to do or are living through. It dances as you describe details of a tawdry affair. This information is intoxicating at first, but the more my mind evaluates the tidbit it reveals the power that is lies within.



So the basic problem these days is that I have too much dirt. I’ve collected it over the years and as I look around at friends and family I can see the harm that I could cause by dropping these tiny bombs and watch their shattering effects on relationships and tear apart the truth that was in its place. Not that I have a desire to do any of these things, but I could turn up some major shit and I have decided, or maybe I am mature enough to avoid the situation all together. I have no idea how I am going to do that, but I am going to try to try. After all, there are some secrets that are better off said to cleanse the soul, reveal the truth or avoid danger.