Some things never look quite right: a purple moon, a black sunlight. Some things never feel quite true: the morning moonlight, evening dew.
Some things never seem to last: the peace of joy, the smiles vast. Some things never had a chance: the dreams found in a stolen glance. No, some things just never look quite right, like razors drawing blood on white. Wells of weeping skin ice-pale with silver edges sipping crimson trails. Hands made rough by calloused touch which suffer long and ache too much. They cannot be soothed by the air nor by the gauze wrapped with deep care. Nothing ever as it seems, just like the pain behind sweet dreams. Nothing ever as it’s said, just pretty words to dress the dread. Nothing ever kind and sweet, just red red lies on pale pale meat.
There came a cold man quick with hunger. Before him a hand begging, “Feed.”. And as starved as he was, he accepted the offer and ate hurriedly and with greed. At the last bite of the offered morsel, he found such disgust in himself. Had he not even bothered to wonder on the needs of the one offering such wealth? He choked on the gift and knew misery. His sickness made a waste of the gift. What his hunger caused, what he savagely consumed, stung with hot bile on his lips. And this did not look quite right.
The threat of the longing is evil. The consumption of need is regret. To ever accept that which is offered is sin if it is not paid back. The starved man took a razor and smiled. He smiled through the burn of the bile. As he smiled he cut all the while. And he paid for the sins of his greed. He paid for the chance that he stole in a glance with the courage to let it all free: and the blood on white looks fine to me.