Stains: A Poem

I tipped out the rainbow coloured world
Into my red-flushed, pale blotched palm.
Then possessively I curled
My fingers shut around each tiny sphere.

Like a greedy miser, I held the wealth
Tightfisted and unforgiving in my hands.
Like a jealous lover with no sense of stealth,
I held it close so no one else could see.

What happens to beauty when it goes unseen?
It fades. It discolours. It smudges.
It resents you and burns to fly away free.
And when you open your fingers, it lunges.

Beauty rolls out between cracks of fingers,
a little paler- a shade of what it was when
“You claimed me, You stole me,” it sniggers.
“I’m stealing myself back now.” it twirls away.

You’re left with pale smudges on the inside
-Yellow, red, orange, a colourful mess-
of your once pristine, once lily white hand.
Somehow at the end, you’re both less.

It’s the pastel smudges which do you in,
Wrench away any self-control you may have had.
Suddenly, you’re a child- stuffing your face
with rainbow-coloured candies.

You gorge yourself on chocolate cavities,
On empty sugar and rainbow colours.
Tiny discs of ephemeral sweetness
That disappear all too quickly- just like beauty.

Each white “M” printed on glossy covers is
Disappeared as they make a sickening crunch
between artificially whitened molars.
Why don’t the colours leave stains on blank enamel?
…They’ve certainly left a stain on you.  

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