The Colour of Tears

How beautiful she looks in the morning. Like a canvas of nature. 

I can see the subtle freckles on her nose, like a drowsy five-year-old falling asleep in Daddy’s arms. Her tousled hair and her warm fresh skin, she’s a cool clean blanket on a hot summer night. How I love her in the morning, discovering her when I awake as some pleasant surprise. It is a beautiful thing, a moment.

I do not think desire is beautiful. At least, no more beautiful than carnage. Or the adrenaline of warfare. No, beauty is not something one appreciates then. Yet the beauty of this moment somehow triggers my desire. I feel a need to want more than what I see or what I feel. It is not an intellectual feeling, yet it is intelligent. And then I am making love to her, she awakens and slowly comes round to my desire.

And sex is like a beast. A primeval predator baying for blood, the scent of the kill in its hungry nostrils. The only beauty found here is terrible. Where did love go? Am I in love now? Is this part of my love, this carnal assault of the senses? Sinking my teeth wantonly into the helpless neck of my prey? Such a wonder, such ecstasy, such explosive satisfaction of irresistible avarice. 

It is a beautiful thing, a moment.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s ox. Yet lust covets all.

I have my own ox. I covet like the butcher. The butcher who breeds his own cattle. Breeds it, nurtures it, broods over it. Then slaughters it.

Pity the poor neighbour whose ox seeks my eye.

The lust of the eye - seek its approval at your peril.

I question my moral integrity.

It’s out of my system now, I am empty. Give me time and space. She cannot touch me, I feel nothing. And she is soiled now, damp, cold and smeared. She wants me to love her, but I can’t, don’t touch me. She puts her arms around me but I’m repellent, a corpse. It’s a moment of love for her. It’s a beautiful thing, a moment. I need time and space, a hole, a corner, I want to dissolve. I want to love, I want to feel, I want to hold - I want to want, to do and feel all these things, but I cannot. I hate this, I hate myself, I hate hating this. What am I but a beast, a pig - and she an ox? I say nothing and she holds me. But I do love her, do I not? I feel numb, like cramp without the pain. Just the pain of knowledge, that I know I feel nothing. But it’s nothing but a moment, the feeling will pass. Is nothing a feeling? She holds me and I say nothing. Just don’t ask me “Do you love me?” Just don’t say “I love you” I can say nothing if you don’t ask me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, or anything, never have. Just don’t ask and I won’t tell. I don’t want to lie to anyone. I don’t want to have to lie. Just give me space and time.

It’s a beautiful thing, a moment.

What a relief it is. The whole thing is one big relief. She leaves the bed to shower. I have the time and space to think now. It’s a release. I think too much, it’s a blessing to be ignorant. Lust is clever, lust does not think. It has the intelligence not to think. Lust is selective ignorance. No. Desire. Lust, desire - just subtle names for the same thing. No. They, It, are a separate animal, the beast that takes over, a demon. Possession of the soul. She’s singing in the shower, I feel as though I’ve ruined an expensive painting. She’ll wash herself clean, but it’s superficial, I know the damage is done.

I feel better now, the feeling is returning. I put on a gown and wait for her to finish, able to look at her again, watching her through the steaming glass doors. She washes the dirty stench of love-making from her flesh. No, sex. We didn’t “make love”, that’s just another subtle word for the same thing. Where was love? Where was my heart? I was selling my soul. How beautiful she is. How sleek her body, how sheer, how innocent her form. It’s a beautiful thing, a moment.

I am scum, like the caked-in sweaty fluid that’s dried to my skin. I wash away the soil of my sin. I am superficial, like the act of washing itself. My soul is unclean, wherein resides a devil, safe in the stain I was born with for him to inhabit. No amount of steam and scrub will remove him. He is a part of me, and makes the world go round, like the angel of love as his neighbour. They are impressed upon us from the beginning, like a printing press on flesh. They are burned into our being like the geo-print of Earth. They are one, the twin-headed God of Man. How fresh and clean is my skin, like a new flower. It’s a beautiful thing, a moment.

I dress. She is poised before the mirror, a phalanx of bottles and jars at her disposal. “I feel naked without make-up” she sometimes says, “I have to put on my face”… These phrases make me sick, they disgust me. Too often, I feel no humour for them. Less and less. How beautiful she looks in the morning. Like a canvas of nature. It’s a beautiful thing, a moment. How I ruined it. How she ruins her beauty with war-paint. This self-imposed vanity of Woman is artifice. So much, so much now I hate, how I hate the superficial. I love her and how I hate her for it. I hate myself for hating her and I hate myself as much - for being as much a fake. I am civilized and human, I am cosmetic. And she is as cosmetic as her superficial skin. What manner of God made us such contradictions, such hypocrites? What manner of Man permitted them, and tolerates them? The civilized human being. Why must we pretend and pretend to love each other for it? Why must we pretend and privately despise each other for it? We are naturally ambiguous and deceitful. We are civilized human beings.

I catch sight of her reflection, she catches my gaze. For a moment she sees the horror in my face, a glimpse of the inner devil of my true self. I look away, feigning ignorance. I pretend. I never want to hurt her, never want to hurt anyone, never have. But then within moments she begins to cry. I wonder at the cause of her sudden sorrow, but deep down I know. It’s imprinted in my soul. We cannot always hide that face, scrub or dress it how we may. I hold her. She sobs. She hates me for it, though she loves me. The paint streams down her face like a crest-fallen clown, and in that face I am reflected. 

“Don’t cry. How beautiful you looked this morning…”

It’s a beautiful thing, a moment.

How ugly is the colour of tears.

Reviews

[Beccy]

Even the deepest of love cannot disassociate us from millions of years of evolution. Instinct, the genetically programmed urge to mate and propagate will, in both the sexes, ever reigns supreme.

At almost forty and still single, I confess to finding love, (a far more complicated chemistry than lust,) both elusive and a pleasant bonus when it happens along. But I have never imagined man as a despoiler, rather, one half of the whole; and just as the female of the species, simply the creation of a higher hand.

An incredibly well written piece. Beccy.

PS. Your choice of the word artifice is spot on. I hardly ever bother with make up.

[Devons]

Thank you very much indeed for your intelligent words.
You know, I can't imagine Eve wearing make-up in the garden of Eden. But we have become civilized since then apparently....

[Taylor]

This is the first piece of yours that I've reviewed. As usual, I review on first read; my intention is to be supportive and encouraging as well as helpful. 1) "I can see the subtle freckles on her nose, like a drowsy five-year-old falling asleep in Daddy’s arms." -- as constructed, the sentence compares "the freckles on her nose" to a "a five-year-old" which doesn't follow precisely -- is it to a five-year-old's nose? Or is it that the sleeping woman reminds the protagonist of the innocence of a child? Also in the sentence you use both "drowsy" and "falling asleep" which is redundant. It's a personal thing but I think using the child image in proximity to describing desire and love-making at least for me as a lone reader is discomforting. 2) "And sex is like a beast. A primeval predator baying for blood, the scent of the kill in its hungry nostrils. The only beauty found here is terrible. Where did love go? Am I in love now? Is this part of my love, this carnal assault of the senses? Sinking my teeth wantonly into the helpless neck of my prey? Such a wonder, such ecstasy, such explosive satisfaction of irresistible avarice." -- This is a wonderful piece of writing, such an original and accurate description of our animal instincts. We sometimes forget that we're just plain mammals. That's why the crude word "f**k" is/was so taboo, I think because it is such a potent verb and which man in his removed-from-nature state prefers to pretend that in the act of sex we're the closest to our primeval state as ordinary folks get in their everyday lives. 3) I found your comparison of the woman to the ox and the musing about how the woman now (having lost the innocence that prompted the desire) was soiled to be written in a very compelling fashion, even though the concept is anathema in my mind (because is a man not "soiled" after sex or why is a woman "soiled" except for a double standard?) 4) "I am scum, like the caked-in sweaty fluid that’s dried to my skin" -- not sure that the accurate word is "sweaty" - it's not sweat, it's mucous. 5) "I am cosmetic. And she is as cosmetic as her superficial skin. What manner of God made us such contradictions, such hypocrites? What manner of Man permitted them, and tolerates them? The civilized human being. Why must we pretend and pretend to love each other for it? Why must we pretend and privately despise each other for it? We are naturally ambiguous and deceitful. We are civilized human beings." -- For me this is the weakest section and slows down the piece -- it feels more like "sermonizing" because it goes "global" or "macro" whereas the rest of the piece feels very "micro," personal and right there in the bedroom/bathroom, thus much more intense. Summary: I found the piece to be quite powerful and very enlightening. I don't look at other reviews before critiquing myself, but after finishing this review, I glanced at the others -- sorry I've chosen a piece of yours that was written so long ago; I only critique prose, so that's why I chose it. Anyway, hope something of what I've said has merit and can be useful.

[Devons]

I moved this piece forward in the list because it hasn't been reviewed a great deal, and well, because I get bored and also I rarely write prose on here - though ironically that is how I began my writing life.
I appreciate your comments mainly because it is unusual to receive such a review on this site. I think the points you make are very valid, but I am unlikely to change this since I very rarely alter work later, as I always edit as I write. What is written is what is intended, and the discrepancies are rather moot points from my perspective. I wouldn't go so far as to call them errors, it is rather a semantic issue, I think. It's a question of interpretation too, perhaps. Writing is subjective, but reading too. I kind of agree but at the same time disagree with you, strangely. I don't agree enough to make alterations but I do see exactly where you are coming from. But I don't think they affect the piece enough. I have read a lot of novels in my time and there isn't one that hasn't contained sections or sentences which I think should have been re-written in terms of comprehension. So it remains subjective.
This wasn't intended for publication beyond posting it here, but should something of that sort come upon me by some miracle then I would certainly recall what you have said and compare to what publishers think. They may well agree!
Having said all that, and with the deepest respect, I would like to credit you for your comments, and for your intelligent appraisal of my work. It is refreshing to be read in such detail, and have it demonstrated with such intelligence.
Thank you very much indeed for reading.

[Devons]

I apologise - I seem to have just reviewed a review!

[Taylor]

A smile back at you! I certainly understand your point of view and I myself make no suggested changes to my own work unless I am convinced that the reviewer is correct. Sometimes even when I think they're correct, I still don't make the changes because I lack the inspiration to execute the suggestion. I'm just glad that I wasn't so far out in left field that you couldn't see my point. As for your editing as you go, I do some of that but unfortunately my re-editing seems to be a never-ending task, so I envy you. Kind regards.

[Devons]

Ha! I know exactly what you mean. As for self-editing, as it were, I can't even write one paragraph without being absolutely certain of it's finished, let alone the whole thing! I read and re-read and re-read and then move on - in the end I've read the thing so many times by the time I let it go that I'm almost completely bored of it...
I shall be interested in reading some of your work, although I can't promise it'll be as much of a critique exactly (unless there's anything glaring and grammatically obvious) but I do review beyond one word. By the way, in future you may have to look further back for other prose of mine on here - but there is enough perhaps.
Salute!

[Taylor]

Thanks Devon; I had a read request for JayceeC which I just completed and later discovered was for a contest of yours. I never read poetry (never have except when forced), so it was fun to see the dots unintentionally connected. Stars must be aligned or something!

[Devons]

Well, at least that was a good example of poetry. I'm pleased.
I used to dislike poetry (it has a stigma too) but I find now that ideas can be compacted and produced much more effectively - and far more quickly. I used to have so many ideas that I could never write more than a few pages of a novel before getting bored and wanting to begin another one!

[Poetic Justice]

speechless...ok..I have composed myself..you are a masterful writer. I was transfixed throughout this monologue - this is face of a thousand people to frightened to speak the truth lest it hurts someone or themselves and here you show the inner battle within..it's emotional, self loathing, graphic and raw. Frankly I wouldn't expect anything less from you..you are back and on point..with this original wonderful write..thanks :)

[Devons]

I kneel for your praise, good lady of Buckingham! And I too am enriched by your return!

[Poetic Justice]

Lords Devons..humbled by your return x

[Kaya]

I am legitimately blown away by this piece. There's so much depth in these words, and a sense of maturity, a sense of honestly. Oftentimes i can find a writing style like this pretentious but it flows so naturally in your story. It breaths like a real thought.
In this, you are honest to the point that as a reader, i couldn't help but see what was said to be a part of the truth. As a girl that does feel the need to 'put my second face on' even as i recognized the falseness of the whole charade, this story resonates deeply with me.
You are, in my own opinion too good to be on here and not on published paper.

[Devons]

Your praise is not wasted on me. Thank you very much. I respect your opinion, since you have talent of your own. Comments like these make the effort worthwhile.

[Wondering Mind]

I am a lazy reader (online) and often shy away from reading long posts, but this caught my attention, and kept it captive, A very interesting style, and a dynamic evolution of thought.
Isn't life just all those little moments?

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

Such a beautiful,intelligent and introspective writing.I love the way one thought leaps into another in a very natural and human way-ultimately leading to an emotional outburst-that can not be traced back to a single thought-don't we all do this so often.Probing ourselves for an answer that never comes in a definite form.
The repeating of the line-'It's a beautiful thing a moment'-gives the story a poetic rhythm.Also reinforcing the theme of transience.
You are challenging so many core human fallacies here and stimulating an introspective debate in others in the process.I feel when a person starts questioning oneself on desires and their validity - he is transcending a part of himself and evolving in so many ways.Self evolution-self growth is so interesting to be watched and written about.Yet is there ever going to be a definite answer to such..perhaps never-it's all like a tube hollowed on both sides with the thinking just piling on and answers we look for never taking a definite shape and form that could be tangible and kept with us.
Everything does seem so momentary and evading at a point in life..that is something I understand.
I loved the lines-
I think too much, it’s a blessing to be ignorant. Lust is clever, lust does not think. It has the intelligence not to think. Lust is selective ignorance.
Yes analyzing and intellectualizing a situation holds its own demons and perhaps insularity and ignorance is a boon in its ways.
How we love and want to live in the purity of it but how we lose ourselves again and again in the helpless and hopeless pursuit of a fulfillment of wants..
Oh! and just as a response to the other review-if it could help-no offences meant-I feel the writer here in the first paragraph is just making a subtle comparison or alluding towards the purity of his lover as she awakens in the morning blanketed in the night's love and still fresh and untouched in ways.So I don't think why it should be changed or revised.The writing is quite clear and does not hint on pedophilia in any way.

Very intense and intelligent writing.

[Ramsey's Rebellion]

This is a wonderful piece of writing. I really liked the way you put words together, especially the line "The paint streams down her face like a crest-fallen clown, and in that face I am reflected."-- bravo!

I wasn't sure if I liked the style when I was reading the story, but the ending really helped convince me that I like it. The narrator wanders a little and I was distracted by that, but you definitely made up for it.

One thing though, you mention a child in the first paragraph... and it confused me because you are obviously talking about a woman or your wife in the rest of the writing. Did you switch gears? When things got sexual I was instantly repulsed because I thought you were still talking about a 5 year old. I would consider revising the first paragraph because this issue had me focused on finding out if you were writing about child abuse or not. This really distracted me and kept me from fully enjoying the piece.

Overall, this has wonderful potential. It really speaks to the human condition. We all use and abuse each other and we give these things euphemisms to cover it up. If we want to be better people we need to control our savage desires, otherwise we will destroy those we love.