Standard disclaimer applies.
I need order.
I crave a clean house, a well organized schedule.
A balanced check book.
Without these things everything falls to pieces.
The darkness of this world hiding the smaller details; the harsh light of the sun making clear our imperfections.
We are not gods. There will always be spots. Little stains on our souls.
So I clean, the scent of strong chemicals burning my eyes, my nose, my lungs. I breath it in as though I can purify myself with.
Relishing the tingle it causes.
Enjoying the burning sensation of these man made detergents eating through my flesh. The scalding water burning away my sins.
Burning away my sorrow, my hopes, my asperations.
All that is left is the need to clean this filth, this depravity.
Scrubbing in vain, each spot clean for only a millisecond and then covered again by the blood dripping languidly from my abused hands. It's a spot, a stain.
Rub the tarnish away till the world shines, till my soul shines.
My smile is grim.
The lights go out and the velvet darkness wraps around me, a small reprieve till morning encroaches, when the daylight will shine again, destroying my carefully crafted illusion. When the filth crawls its way back into my life and the compulsion returns to scrub the walls, peeling away layers of paint.
Leaving behind a trail of blood to continue this cycle.
Only in the shadows may I find solace.
The Shadows welcome me with their open-armed forgiveness, but it is only to cover up how very cruel they are.
