Misery blue

Soft, dying. Starving thin and cold, looking for love, gracefully wilting on the perimeter just out of its reach. When you want something so desperately that it scares you how badly you want it so you never put yourself within its reach so that you can ruin yourself and say that it was all its fault for not extending its welcome to you.

To be so lost, wrapped up, absorbed in destruction and crashing so that you can brand yourself a victim of happiness the world subscribes to, so that you can hate on everyone else who has had the fortune to be free, to live in the light to have suffered nights in darkness but had a flame to hold on to.

To be beautiful is to be nearly dead. Yes, to be dead is to be preserved in the beauty of eternal youth. What could be more beautiful than that young untouched innocence? The vulnerability to corruption but the luck to have evaded it. And where does it leave those of us who have had creeping vines wrap and twine us back into the earth? You know Poison Ivy. Poison.

Thin-lipped, blue. Pale, white like the rosy peaches pale as the morning dew with fragmented sunlight shining through. Clasped in the stone cold marble chafed and chiselled hands is a blooming red rose. Drip your blood. It will never dry. It will never be life. Lying there, she might have been lying about the terrible life that left that the better choice. You’d never know.

Light breaks on Snow White’s crystal coffin. How many Disney ladies have we seen laid to rest, only to have charming princes come by and kiss them back into a new and beautiful beginning? But they were beautiful to begin with. What of the devil, the demon, and the evil dragon? Stabbed through the heart, banished to the ends of the earth. A new hell awaits.

Ice-cold fragment. The prettiest snowflake falls, and lands, only to melt away to nothingness. On the tongue of a child with a particularly foul breath. Never on the rosy cheeked princess and her forest deer/animals. No. Beautiful people have snowflakes of diamonds and gold and platinum plated with rubies and gold. Is your beauty what is made of it?

Is the beauty of kindness that it never thinks that it is not enough? How lucky. And it shines through too. Easy. One stone, two birds. Is it stupid, to be so blindingly full of hope? Or is that just the light of humanity and how it shines? Intelligence, wisdom and gentle kindness. Maybe one day there will be enough in the world and our beasts will all be soothed. The harsh quiet will be all we have to suffer.

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