Corrupted Souls: A Crimson Flaw

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You can say we all have flaws, that we're imperfect and blame it on flaws.

But in reality, we are flaws itself, we're imperfect of course. What human being or anything isn't for that matter? No two bowls are exactly the same, one corner can be too curvy or thin.

Yeah they can say the measurements were wrong, that there was a error.

But who caused those errors? Who didn't measure the walls of a, in process, building correctly just because the constructor ate that spicy burrito? Or a bowl has a slight dent, because the potter turned away to take a break and a curious child's finger found its way?

Us.

We are flaws. We are the ones who breed more along the way.

Some carry them within themselves. Fighting the voices in their heads that cry out for its beholder to rip into the flesh of the old women next door.

We have them in everlasting binds, or so we think. Soon they break as the metal grows rusty and stress distracts us. It snaps. Finally taking control.

You may wonder how I know this. Maybe I witnessed it with my own two eyes. Maybe I snapped myself. Or maybe your just too blind.

Ah, I remember those days when I was oblivious to the crimson flaws my family held. It's a lot to take in the sight of your own father strangling and ripping into the poor stray puppy's you found flesh. At only six years old.

I will never know how clueless I was to the signs in front of my thirteen year old self.

I guess its too late for mommy now.