I'm not sure whether this would be considered a vignette or a poem, so any clarification on the matter would be much appreciated.


By: Kemikle ([email protected])

Disclaimer: Character is Marvel's, story is mine. No money. Feedback *please*! Archive if ya wanna, just lemme know where.


Scribbling in a colouring book.

Blotches of rainbow scattered at random.

Be careful, make sure you stay in the lines.

Don't go out.

Leave the lines and the picture becomes ruined, imperfect.

So keep it all nice and neat, never stray from the lines.

Never stray from perfection.

Can't simply scribble anymore, it's too dangerous.

If you scribble and go outside of the lines, they'll see you,

See how imperfect you are.

Use long, graceful strokes.

Perfect strokes.

They'll see this, not the imperfect scribbles, and be envious,

Oh, so envious.

And you'll be proud, stand tall, above them, above the imperfections.

Just keep inside the lines.

Never ever escape them.

Elegant, fluid strokes.

Wax grinds, crushes into the porous fiber of the paper.

Don't push too hard, keep it light and shallow, never too deep.

In depth, one eventually drowns.

They'll drown, one day.

But not you.

Because you are the perfect one, the only one.

You need not someone to catch you, for you will never fall.

At least, not if you stay inside the lines.

You look up, see them at play.

So carefree, and you wonder,

If perfection cares not about simplicites, and imperfection does so,

Why are they without such worries?

Contradiction is what shatters your perfection,

And you falter, in one long, ugly, red smear.

Leaving the sanctuary of the lines, exposed, imperfect.

And now, you exist, for there is no such thing as absolute perfection,

And you will never live it down, and you will never rise again,

For you are one of them now, marking,

Scribbling in a colouring book.