Pure
(Day 2- Bloodied Hands)
What is purity?
Purity is clear blue eyes and a halo of sunlight around his head.
It's his smile. It's his tears.
It's radiance. A place where darkness can't live.
I've seen him curled up against the trunk of a tree, a heavy book against his lap, hiding in the morning. His shirt was crisp and stainless. His skin blended with the sky's glare.
Purity is the wildflower he handed me once, pale violet and bright.
He is purity.
Purity is her.
Glass is the purest thing I know.
Fragile, beautiful, invisible, clear, and solid is she.
She is pure.
What is corruption?
I am corruption.
I've felt it this whole time.
I am the darkness absent from his smile, the stain in his shirt. I am the night he's hiding from in that morning.
Corruption is the blood on my hands. All of his tears couldn't wash it away.
This is why I stay away.
Corruption is me.
I shatter glass. I set gardens aflame.
I am the blood falling in their eyes. The blood dripping from my fingers and marking my throat.
Corruption is a monster.
I am corruption.
Ruby water and hands of porcelain are such an ugly sight.
He can never know.
She can never know.
