I’m feeling quite devious as the creative juices are flowing. I’m not being as tame as a cat licking up watery milk. No, this is more like being wild as a lion and acting tough like the steak it eats. I’m feeling as bubbly as a fine wine yet staying quite as a mouse as I work my way through the essay. Acting as sturdy as a office desk isn’t the easiest thing to do but I don’t want to go back to being flimsy like those school chairs. My fingers are the Ferrari’s of fingers as they race across the keyboard. Occasionally they will drift into the speed of an old time Model T Ford but I promise that won’t last more than second. You wouldn’t be able to be near me because one moment I’ll be cold as the North Pole and the next I’ll be hot on the keys like the Sahara. My deviousness is as sweet as crisp apple yet sour as a Warhead. Running red like the blood of an enemy, my deviousness devours the page and starts intermingling with the colors of my personality resembling the paints on Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It’s never salty like the sea, but more of a sugar-tainted sweetness. The softness of a pink fluffy bunny stuffed animal is nothing compared to my rough, scrub brush deviousness. Sometimes I’m spiky like a vibrant rose’s thorns, but in the end I’ll be as soft as its silky, supple, petals.