Bandaids and Brimstone

And so he cut himself-accidently of course, or wittnessed himself bleeding .shards of self hatred and shame came welling up. Dark Catholic dogma, waves of guilt manifesting themselves. And so we looked for a bandaid, I gingerly handing one to him, careful for it not to spread, heaven forbid it should spread, this dark dirty secret. A wall of repressed sexuality, of shame. That is what it is like for some, and this is how they interact with our white washed world, the black sheep are now grazing the feild but always on watch for the wolves, they howl endlessly throughout the night, there eyes always watching, salvating between the trees of white birch, waiting for there chance to take one down. Blood is thicker then water.