It's a thick color, blue. You can choke on it - you can also get in there and dig around for ages; ain't nobody getting kicked out of blue. You can beat blue to death and hardly tell the difference. Other people might notice, but they're not inside of it - everything looks different from inside. That much, you should know. We should all know. Why we like to get drunk in maroon, velvet rooms. No?
Maybe it's just me.
I tried to kill blue. I don't believe in it, killing. I think it's ugly. An idea. A dream. A person. None of those things deserve killing, but fuck blue. And maybe I wasn't even trying to kill it as much as I was giving it an arena. Which is damn generous.
You know what those things cost?
I tried to wrap it up, you see. You understand. I'm sure you do - there are many of us looking out from inside blue.
Binding it was tortuous. For me. For you. For both and all of us and that guy in the corner. Fucking brutal. There was a flesh-piercing pull to it. The fire was fine, but the aftermath smelled of charred corpses. Yes, that's ugly. That's what it smelled like. There is a lot of true in blue.
I tried to free it. That was smart. That was real thinking. That was cigarette-dangling-out-of-lip noir shit. Everybody loved it. Shit was like fried chicken. It left you feeling greasy. But folks liked it and sometimes you give the people what they like just because. Because you feel like you're drowning when you're in the blue, gasping, your skin's gonna turn just that color. Choked-out blue.
I play with blue. You eventually have to. Or you snuff the whole palette, but that's a little extreme for most peoples' tastes. Acidic. Something repugnant where you can't really find a decent foothold - you can't really find a decent argument. You understand. It's like an obscene catharsis, that whorish hue.
I laughed at blue and I loved blue. Just the same as I have done with you. I have cursed and thrashed and curtsied and shimmied my way around blue so many times it doesn't even matter anymore. My hands are stained with it. I can't wash the blue off my hands, no matter how hard I try.
Until, one day, the blue fades. Gradually. From near-blackness to dark to the one you settle on. Baby. Look at the sky and it's baby blue. Clear skies today? Man, on a good day, my skies are baby blue. Because it's always there. On the horizon. A wolf with blood-soaked jowls.
Best to take a broader view, extend your reach, see what you can find in the periphery. Don't ever look it head on and you might just make it. For a while. For a night. And that's alright.
It has to be.