Work Text:
OF LUCIFER’S FEELINGS
Have you ever slid your fingers across an old wooden surface? It doesn’t matter which, be it a table or a barstool. Did you feel those small bumps, rough edges and still spot the smoothness. The imperfections did not mar it, they made it perfect. It was because of them it was perfect to you. If you were to press your lips to it, it would feel cold and you would know you left it blemished. Your wet lips left the surface with you, but you can still see them resting on the wood. It’s an imperfection. One left by you. You don’t know whether it ruins the beauty of the wood or makes it even more beautiful. But you know that it didn’t stop you from trying and wanting to try it again.
Have you ever caressed someone’s cheek with your fingers? Have you ever thought of blemished, yet perfect, dark wood while doing this? I have.
Have you ever felt the need to take up a knife and carve your initials into a dark wooden surface to mark it as your own? Your knife could be your lips. Your kiss could be your initials. I yearn to do this.
Have you ever stared at a polished wooden wall, wondering why you are the only one frowning? The wooden surface just stares past you. It’s like it’s taunting you. It’s so beautiful with all its blemishes and you want it to frown. You want it to reveal what moves within its quiet mind. Yet it doesn’t. Does it anger you? It kills me.
I want to caress that surface.
I want to blemish it with my mark.
I want to make it a piece of my work, not God’s.
…I want it to be beautiful because of me.
Why won’t you let me?
Michael.