Red & Black

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Black and Red the two colors of human existence, so simple, so tribal, yet significant to us all as they are burned into our bones from when we exist as only atoms to when we die as galaxies and they stretch beyond that to the lives our stars burn out into. While they seem so simplistic there are deeper meanings in these colors that run deeper than the blood in our veins.
Red shows our fatal flaw: passion. A word of seven letters just as the seven sins it destroys us. With so much ambition towards our greater passion we misjudge things, overlook others, and forget the simplicities of life. Perhaps this is why when I think about how the future is going to be painted my heart starts to clench and I remember all the what if’s that could’ve happened somehow. It goes like this. Passion is the simplest instinct us humans have, you, me, and anyone you’ve ever met has had passion towards something. Whether it be acting, singing, or whatever have you, it’s always there and with no doubt it will tear you apart. Don’t deny the fact, there is no honor in passion. We all end up the same, disease ridden with vibrating dreams bashing against the walls of our hearts, driving our brains up a wall. It’s true I’m sorry to say, we all end up mad in a way. Your passion drives you to forget that others exist and suddenly your brain is spinning the thought that you’ll make it and the white noise around you will fall. Maybe that’s true but what happens when your inferno burns out and you’re just a shell of what you wanted to be. Do you still have what it was you did? Or are you drifting in the black hole of society? Perhaps during your incubation of hibernation you’ll have discovered the meaning of our color black just as I had.
Black oh doesn’t it seem ...

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...one of the millions of stars that burn in me to make me glow so intensely that my body burns to the touch the heat of a million impressions. Yet skin regenerates itself and all of your impressions, those marks left by your trembling lips during the bewitching hours, they're gone. As I fear the thought they'll never be imitated by another or restored by yourself my lonely star that refuses to burn out.

So it is for you my dear star, that I paint my lips red. The blood from my heart stains my lips with the most sinful of colors, if only to show that you're still burning in me. My fingers are stained permanently black from your last touch. Good bye. It reeks, it's so dismal, but all I think about at night. Your hands lingering on mine seeping black ooze just screaming for the attention you so desired, and as I wished I could show you now you've moved to another galaxy.

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