Palms Deep Rouge

December 2009 He found out as expected. The news came from his friend, not from me. This was anticipated, as well. A cataclysmic anger and disappointment deluged his hardened heart until it was a massive stone in the mountain's steepest cliff. The pain and distrust could be smelt from five thousand miles away, and seeped stealthily beneath my door. Words were no longer ointment to soothe the wounds; knowledge was the sword to dance on the surface of his skin. His blood covered my hands in an angelic paradox, and dyed my palms with a deep rouge tint that even the purity of water could not wash away. His mind twisted in and out of its own intoxication, searching for liberation. Two innocent victims remained to plunge in and out of the rousing Whim, not by choice, but by sweet entrapment. Both the wreckage and crooked creation was foreshadowed in a mind that whispered the future in obscure codes. The voice spoke, and untamed flames provoked irreversible calamity in saccharine renunciation.