Apr 2018
At four a.m., I picked up a broken jar. I wanted to repair the damages, I tried to place the pieces back as they were before, I attempted to fit the puzzle back together, but I failed. As I did so, my skin was embedded with four pieces of glass; I never noticed our blood runs in various hues of red.
I individually plucked the pieces from my skin. The first one had a word inscribed on it: “Love”. It was written with a careful hand, cursive letters, in light pink; a reminder of roses. A tiny picture was just below the word, a heart painted in a beautiful, silky gold, so bright, it glowed.
The second piece was in the form of a triangle. Another word written in a beautiful calligraphic font, a violet-red color, so pure I could feel the velvet beneath my skin; “Lust” . Again, I discovered a picture underneath, a hand painted in the same golden hue as the previous one, so mesmerizing and appealing to the eyes; the stars could compare.
The next piece was a heavy one, the edges were rigid and could easily pierce through anyones skin. Once again, a word: scribbled so sharply onto the glass, “Anger.” I could feel a heat sensation, the burning of emotions; this one came with flames. The ink was vermillion, so dark, it could be black. Infuriated eyes were carved onto it, bled from golden ink. So rich in depth, it made the piece cry for sympathy.
The last one was a cold piece of glass; resembling the shape of a knife , so much so it could be used as one. “Hate” was the only thing on it, in a red so vibrant, it stood alone on the color spectrum. The handwriting for this one was… “peculiar". It was almost as if the word didn’t want to be there, like it was attempting to jump from the glass and disappear into the meaningless void of non-existence; it hated itself.
I was able to stain these pieces with the emotions tangled up inside. They released themselves before I could combust. I never noticed how much a person could keep in. How much water could have filled up the jar before it overflows? When it does, what are we left with? Puddles spilled from lack of control. We must clean up a mess that could have been prevented; if we just would have stopped the water before it was too much.
I individually plucked the pieces from my skin. The first one had a word inscribed on it: “Love”. It was written with a careful hand, cursive letters, in light pink; a reminder of roses. A tiny picture was just below the word, a heart painted in a beautiful, silky gold, so bright, it glowed.
The second piece was in the form of a triangle. Another word written in a beautiful calligraphic font, a violet-red color, so pure I could feel the velvet beneath my skin; “Lust” . Again, I discovered a picture underneath, a hand painted in the same golden hue as the previous one, so mesmerizing and appealing to the eyes; the stars could compare.
The next piece was a heavy one, the edges were rigid and could easily pierce through anyones skin. Once again, a word: scribbled so sharply onto the glass, “Anger.” I could feel a heat sensation, the burning of emotions; this one came with flames. The ink was vermillion, so dark, it could be black. Infuriated eyes were carved onto it, bled from golden ink. So rich in depth, it made the piece cry for sympathy.
The last one was a cold piece of glass; resembling the shape of a knife , so much so it could be used as one. “Hate” was the only thing on it, in a red so vibrant, it stood alone on the color spectrum. The handwriting for this one was… “peculiar". It was almost as if the word didn’t want to be there, like it was attempting to jump from the glass and disappear into the meaningless void of non-existence; it hated itself.
I was able to stain these pieces with the emotions tangled up inside. They released themselves before I could combust. I never noticed how much a person could keep in. How much water could have filled up the jar before it overflows? When it does, what are we left with? Puddles spilled from lack of control. We must clean up a mess that could have been prevented; if we just would have stopped the water before it was too much.
