Baby, don't understand
why we can't just hold on
to each others' hands

This time might be the last time I fear
unless I make it all too clear
I need you so.

[talk]
We're in this life together,
even when one moves without the other.
Different pages from the same story.

Take these broken wings
[echo: take these broken wings]
And learn to fly again
learn to live so free.
[echo: live so free]
And when we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in.

Take these broken wings -
Baby, I think tonight
we can take what was wrong
and make it right.

[talk]
This aching is familiar,
it's something I remember.
We can't touch without feeling,
We can't heal without healing.

Baby it's all I know
that you're half of the flesh
And blood that makes me whole
I need you so.

Only the young could fall so hard,
could be so careless and ignore the scars.

Take these broken wings
And learn to fly again,
learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in.

Take these broken wings

[talk]
So we'll move out of the way this time,
making room for each other;
One without the other.
We are broken, but we are moving still.

Take these broken wings
And learn to fly again,
learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in.
Take these broken wings . . .

[talk]
We're in this life together,
even when one moves without the other.

I got to learn to fly,
and learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up for us,
and let us in.

[talk]
We are broken, but we are moving still,
a thousand different ways.



When it's all over, it's somehow even harder to let go.



When the entire world has given up on me;
I don't see why I shouldn't.



Whatever logic or reason that he had retained after the series of events that plagued him was slowly floating away. Every day had been filled with unexpected illusion, haunting reminders of the fate that awaited him, leering from every shadow with deep garnet eyes. However, he couldn’t resign himself to a particular feeling dwelling within, other than the feeling of loathsome helplessness that gnawed on the base of his spine. There was a deep haze clouding his mind, preventing him from any deep thoughts other than contemplating what to do next, and even that was a desperate chore in itself; sweeping away all the clutter of panic in an effort to piece together a comprehensible train of thought. Arranging these debris was like piecing back a full length mirror that had crashed into a thousand pieces upon the floor, and just as painful. In the chaos that was his oblique mind, he was only able to decipher several facts: the doll had been under the checkmate's influence, he was now defenseless, and now every shadow, every sound within the house, was now suspect to his death toll.



An end of an object is a point where it terminates, or stops.

When the end comes, where will you be?

When the object is thought of as running in a certain direction, the end is whichever end occurs last, or is furthest from the beginning.

When the world stops, what will you do?

The end is the part of an area that lies at the boundary.

When risking it all no longer helps you breach that boundary, what can you do?

The end is the point where something ceases to exist.

What if you finally realised that you, along with your screwed up life was at an end?

In the end;
nothing left,
nothing mattered.

In the end;
noone sees,
noone cares.

In the end;
nothing lost,
never had anything in the first place.



Ahhhh shit. Bloody hell. I feel so damn un-emo that I just had to rebut the previous post with something righteous and cheerful.

'Why shouldn't the figure kill people? Why is it wrong?' These are such great questions, so great that it baffles me. I don't know how to answer it. But as a stubborn, naiive, selfish and arrogant little fellow human, I'd simply argue that it wasn’t right, either way it wasn’t right for anyone to think like that. No one should ever have the right to take a life away, no matter who that person was. Be he bad or good, man or beast, mortal or god; that person didn’t deserve to die on somebody's whim, not when life was so precious and short, with so much to live for. Everyone should live their life to the fullest, and even if they made mistakes, it Some believe everyone paid for their wrongdoings while they were alive, not when they died, hence hate the idea of death being used as a punishment.

Yes, I know, naiive and really arrogant, but I guess this is how humans are.

I can argue that I don't agree with this figure's beliefs, not all humans were bad; he would be the first to agree that his race wasn’t always right, but there were good things about them, too. They were kind, warm and nice people. They may have their faults, but that was okay because no one was perfect.

And yet...

‘Animals kill each other all the time, to eat and survive. But humans don’t need a reason. Humans kill without a thought, just because it suits their purpose. They’ll even kill each other-on a simple whim.’

Don't you wonder, when this figure said this, were the figure's eyes as cold as his words? If they were, why? Have you wondered what this figure might have seen, how long this figure has been around walking this pathetic and dying planet to be able to say those words, as if this figure truly believed the words it was saying?

Okayyy, this is bad. I said I wanted to rebut the previous post, but actually, yeah, my heart does lie with the previous post, so I guess I strayed a bit there eh? Siding back to the previous post, heh, I'm biased. I should be whole-heartedly supporting this stand if I'm planning to rebut the previous one.



Okay, this post is going to be pretty weird. Bec I just sort of thought of this issue. Then yeah, muse came up and just felt the need to blog.

From the point of view of a mere bystander, maybe God or something has the power to control people's lives, in the sense that this figure can create natural disasters and kill off people, then yeah, sort of a mind-conversation btwn this bystander and this almighty figure.

People who watch others die off one by one, when they question why these people are killed off slowly, they don't get the reason, they probably don't see any good in killing them off, hence this question. But if this figure returns the question, maybe asking, "Why shouldn't I kill off humans?"

Yes, the person can retort, that people get killed, people get hurt, and what this figure is doing is exactly what's causing this damage. Hence, it’s wrong. And this figure probably doesn't realise all this, therefore shouldn't cause these events to kill people off.

But what if this figure does realise? I mean, of course this figure realises that it's taking away lives, but why? Why exactly shouldn't this person kill? What's so wrong?

Yeah, if I were the person confronting this figure, I could just splutter, "Just because."

It's pretty amusing, really. People kill lost of animals don’t they? And trees, and plants. Do they care? Humans don‘t give it a second thought though, about the carnage in their wake. Why is that? Because plants are not as smart? Because animals can’t talk back? Does that mean you can kill things that can’t talk and aren’t as smart as you?

An instinctive retort would be a straight out, "No, of course not!"

No, of course not? Does that mean you’ve never taken a life? Never eaten meat, never plucked a flower? On your way home, never stepped on a tiny bug?

And no, this answer, if it was me giving it, I'd say I'm saying it out of spite rather than as statements of curiosity. It's strange isn't it?

Animals kill each other all the time, to eat and survive. But humans don’t need a reason. Humans kill without a thought, just because it suits their purpose. They’ll even kill each other- on a simple whim. Take vegetarians for example, they eat vegetables, not animals. Why? I asked a Buddhist monk this question once, when I was in a very famous temple in Taiwan. I asked the monk, "Why is it that it's alright to eat vegetables and not animals? Vegetables are lives too, aren't they?" Of all the answers the monk could have given me, the monk made a grave mistake. The monk didn't say something like: Because that's the bare minimum for survival, so our crime is less. Instead, the monk said, "People stay vegetarian, they think that it's fine to eat just vegetables and not animals, because they believe they shouldn't eat something with a face."

And this, was where I wondered, then what if vegetables weren't that privileged, as I'd call it, to have a face? They simply were unlucky enough to be those without a voice to speak up for themselves, not even a face to tell others what they think. Oh yeah? So, doesn't this make you wonder? Wonder if not eating something without a face, was merely to lessen their own guilt? They don't want to see a crying cow, a crying camel, or a crying pig. So what if vegetables can't cry? Not guilty enough to stop eating vegetables altogether as long as they don't show you their anguish, their pain?

What a joke.

If this person was really desperate, I think this person's entitled to saying that, not all humans are like that, be it in the vegetarian example thingy of way of thinking or in the example of humans killing in general. Yes, maybe...just maybe...the human the figure happens to kill off is one who doesn't do what's shown in either example? Alright, true. That given. But even those who ‘aren’t like that’ kill in order to live. So tell me, why are humans the only animal to be exempted from the law of the hunt?

Nothing to say? Thought so.

What if an even stronger, smarter creature came along? Could it kill people? Would that be okay? It wouldn’t, of course. So the figure can ask again, "Why shouldn’t I kill people? Why is it wrong?"

Here, I have to quote ak, "perhaps it doesn't really matter, does it?"

Yes, nobody cares, but I guess that's why blogs are here, at least, for many I know. It's just for you to...for once, care a little more and wonder why others don't. A piece of advice: Humans don't need reasons to do anything. Morals are just a small tool-kit they keep with them to pretend that they keep to it, use it, and fix things with it.

Forget it, nothing you do will make a difference, because from the very beginning, nobody really fucking cared.



When I've lost it all,
...will there be anyone left?



He stared right back at him, silently communicating what words alone could not properly convey; his pure loathing for the abomination that stood before him, and the sheer emptiness that now resided where his soul once belonged.



When it's all over, when the facade peels off bit by bit, what are you thinking?

...Do you despise me? Despise me not for what I was, but what I've become?

Shimatta.



So close yet so far;
...nothing can bridge this painful distance.



So close yet so far;
...what can bridge this painful distance?



The reason he rejected you, was probably because he was deathly afraid, that you'd go somewhere he could no longer reach.



Pain is the sweetest kiss. The rhythm of human blood is the dearest sensation. Mingling the two, feeling them as equal—yes.

More and more blood. Wasn't that what you always wanted...?



A one-way ticket to Hell.

How interesting. Fingering the ticket in my fingers, I twirled it around, but the stiff slip seemed reluctant to be toyed, mocking me for my mindless and bored attempts to occupy myself. I ignored the stub, choosing instead, to walk over.

Hell, yes...I was so going to get another ticket. I'd make sure someone else understood. Understood how it bloody hurts. I looked down resentfully upon the ticket. It was an ugly little thing. So insignificant-looking,yet the one to bring out in us a maelstrom of emotions, waves of pain crashing down, torrents of a cold mockery of a downpour splattering. Oh hell yes, I was definitely bringing someone to savour this journey with me.



Back off. You and I, we have the same eyes. Dull and weary. The only difference is that I hid it with fake smiles and false cheer while you hid yours with anger and aloofness.



A distant smile,
A long dead hope.

When will this ever end?

A rolling tear,
A tightening of lips.

What will you do when it finally does?

A forced smile,
A clearing of throat.

What will you be left with when it's over?

A bitter taste,
A cringe.

What's left...is it enough reason to live on for?

A wince,
A choked sob.

I doubt it.

A shaking frame,


...what will you do when your favourite toy breaks?



It was a swing. A swing that held two similar but completely different memories. It held a memory of the capturing of a heart, and the capturing of what's left of humanity.



When the snow comes,
and the rain goes...

;a replacement.



The seesaw tilts from side to side, and then

Reset our lives, we can; begin again.



He always liked the see-saw. When you were on the see-saw, somebody would be playing with you.

...but not anymore. He liked the swings now. You needed nobody to play the swings. He could be alone and still be able to play.


One playground, so many things. Should I make a choice?



Voices.

All he could hear were echoing sounds and thoughts and noises and static. He couldn’t identify the source of the voices, nor whom they belonged to – it was all background music in the dark expanse of his mind that he was confined to. He let the sound surround him, envelop him, to whisper in his ears and tell him: ‘Everything will be alright…’

Even if he knew that it was a lie.

He lifted his trembling hand to reach out into the never ending sea of black above him, hoping to somehow catch the voices between his fingers and hold them close to him – something precious he could keep safe and true to him in this suffocating space. But the sound taunted him, just out of reach, dancing away from his hand and almost laughing at his pitiful attempts to soothe himself.

Alone in the dark.

Completely alone.

The fingers on his left hand twitched slightly and he brought them down to hover in front of his eyes, pale hand with slender fingers that pushed so many people away from him. He turned his palm to the sky so he could spy the flawless fingernails and gentle paleness adorning the back of his hand, a feeling akin to self-pity bubbling in his chest – but before it could surface he beat it down, the echoing voice of him now droning out the other sounds spiraling in the darkness; ‘Keep trusting.’

He had nowhere to go.

‘Keep trusting.’

There was no one waiting for him.

‘Keep trusting.’

Was he expected to keep going down a path with no end?

‘Keep trusting.’

But he had nowhere to go.



But really, can you break something that was never whole in the first place?



He closed his eyes, putting a blindfold securely over his eyes. He liked it when he couldn't see. Whenever his eyelids were closed, he could forget for a moment that his life was bound to illusions.



Harmony is the heart of life.

Balance is the essence of the world.

Where good is, evil is found.

Where darkness lies, light appears.

You are, and aren’t.

You cross while falling and you fall while crossing.

However, being and non-being can be illusions.

However, the judge can’t be deceived.

The judge says harmony is the heart of life.



Harmony is an illusion.

Balance is nothing but a creation of the weak.

There is no compromise.

You either are, or aren’t.

If you are, you cross and succeed. If you aren’t, you fall and fail.

However, success can be an illusion and failure can be an illusion.

However, the judge can’t be deceived.

The judge says harmony is an illusion.



Eyes widening as the soft words struck a chord deep inside his heart and resonated there, sounding achingly familiar and... right.

My other half.

The other half of myself.



Ready to stop the tide, move the moon, capture the stars and defy gravity; because no one else's around.



There is nothing wrong with trusting. Trust appears in many forms, and not just in the standards humanity had created for it. God won’t be angry at you for following his greatest commandment; to trust.



Have you ever heard of those extreme moments, when, due to an overflowing flash of shock, surprise, bewilderment, or horror, the whole world, no, the whole universe seems to just stop? Did you ever experience time freezing in your very midst, or everything else fading into the background because the most important thing, the most crucial of all factors, was staring at you face to face? Were there ever moments in your life when the flow of air suddenly became unavailable, and as much as you wanted to, you can’t command your body to start breathing again because you know that by even daring to breathe, you can shatter this supernatural moment of tranquil limbo, and release all the goddamn immigrants of Hell upon your very self?



Surroundings merging into a blur of grayscale visage, nothing really much distinct in detail due to the lack of proper vision caused by the accumulating tears.



This is how I was born to be. I'm the darkness. These fools trying to delude themselves that I'm not the light. Figure out the end of the equation.



☻ ☺

People fall for the right things.

Is black right? Tell me it is, because I don't know what to believe in now.



It's hard to recall, but I remember that I was always so angry at the world, feeling no pity for the unseen souls, no emotion for those too hung up to see them.

Calm cobalt eyes closed against the sight of the world in order to remember.
[ak, yeshhh, unseensouls. that was deliberate.]



Doushite omae wa so yatte...ima ichiban hoshi kotoba kurerun daro?
Doushite omae mitai na yatsuga...ore no sowa ni ite...naite kurerun daro?
Doushite?

Why are you...
...saying the one thing I want to hear right now?
Why is someone like you...
...with me...
...crying for me?
Why?



Why say those things when you wouldn't even look at the real me?

If you're scared, fear is proof that you've looked at the real me.



This is DHT
And we'll take you
Into the world of darkness and magic...

Come to me children and follow my way
Into the world of darkness and magic
With all my power I'll show you the way
To all your dreams, hopes and delusions.

...Darkness...Magic...Power...Dreams...Hopes...Delusions. They're all the same.



Come little children I'll take thee away
into a land of Enchantment

Come little children the time's come to play
here in my garden of Shadows

Follow sweet children I'll show thee the way
into the unmistakable pain and the Sorrows

Weep not poor children for life is this way
murdering beauty and Passions

Hush now dear children it must be this way
too weary of life and Deceptions

Rest now my children for soon we'll away
into the calm and the Quiet

Come little children I'll take thee away
into a land of Enchantment

Come little children the time's come to play
here in my garden of Shadows

Come little children, say...
if I unveiled the land of Enchantment,
What would you see?

A dying world?
Or a new world?

Sing, for thy heart is soaring,
finding naught but a New World.



Music. Notes of a forgotten memory. Flowing through time.

;too stubborn to die. Is it a crime...?



Because summer has gone, the sky stays blue.
Because autumn has come, and I left you a clue.

Because candles are lit, won't you stay for a while?
Among the lame excuses, I know I trust you.



Lie of a lie,
Deception within deception.
What should you believe in?



As dreams shatter into the silence of reality,
The broken pieces cut into the heart which screams helplessly in protest.



How far should you go to save them?
How far can you go?
How far would you?



He would not allow this fragile spirit to have another chance to cry so miserably because of the sun again.

He'd make sure it rained everyday.



Mar this thin line between dreams and reality… because I don't think I want to live anymore.



You asked, as though it were an accident.
I replied, as if it was a coincidence.



What is your name?
I want to know it.

What is your name?
I wish to understand it.

What is your name?
I hope to remember it.



Love, was probably a debt incurred from your past lives

Habits, were probably hints of your past happenings

Trust, was probably something that you have been hunting down for a long, long time.

Admiration, was probably a reminder of something left undone…


Damn it. What am I supposed to do?



Soft, fluffy, snowflakes fell from the heavens. Their pure white beauty covered all the land as far as the eye could see. A boy stood amongst the snow. His black hair dimming the white of the flakes that fell around him. He was alone. He felt empty. The scene was devoid of all life. Of all hope. He was cold,

but not from the snow. There was something coming. It was trying to eat away at his soul. He could feel it but was't able to do anything to stop it.

“Where is this place?”

The snow answered him with their silent flutter as they fell from the heavens.

“Where is everyone?”

A soft wind blew the snowflakes to and fro.

“He's gone…”

Suddenly the snow stopped. The wind grew stronger, grew fierce. The boy wrapped his arms around his body as the snow whipped up and around him. He could feel it again. He could feel the emptiness. It ate at him as the snow soared through his clothes freezing his skin, freezing his heart.

Laughter rang out throughout the area as the boy fell to his knees. It grew louder and louder. He raised his hands to his ears in a failed attempt to block the sound.

The boy’s eyes widened in fear. The voice called to the deepest recesses of his soul, his heart, his mind. It was inside him and yet it was a pressure that his body could feel. The evil, the malice, the thrust for blood rang true in the laughter that once again rang through the area. It sounded in the wind. It lived in the snow. It called to him.



I gave a smile. I wasn't sure whether it was actually considered a smile. It was a mere curve of the lips, a faint trace of a ...smile, so far from what it used to be years ago.

But it didn't really matter now did it?


Resigned. I quit.



This world will never be what I expected. And if I don't belong, who would have guessed it? I will not leave alone, everything that I own. To make you feel like it's not too late. It's never too late.

Even if I say, it'll be alright. Still I hear you say you want to end your life. Now and again we try, to just stay alive. Maybe we'll turn it around cause it's not too late. It's never too late.

No one will ever see, this side reflected. And if there's something wrong, who would have guessed it? And I have left alone, everything that I own. To make you feel like, it's not too late. It's never too late.

Even if I say, it'll be alright. Still I hear you say you want to end your life. Now and again we try, to just stay alive. Maybe we'll turn it around cause it's not too late. It's never too late.

The world we knew, won't come back. The time we've lost, can't get back. The life we had, won't bleed us again.

This world will never be. What I expected. And if I don’t belong.

Even if I say, it'll be alright. Still I hear you say, you want to end your life. Now and again we try, to just stay alive. Maybe we'll turn it around, cause it's not too late. It's never too late. Maybe we'll turn it around, cause it's not too late. It's never too late (It's never too late). It's not too late. It's never too late.



Life is meaningless. It’s not a stage, and we aren't its actors. Life is a prison. It tells us when we can do something and when we can’t. It tells us what we can do, and when we can do it. There are some who try to defy these rules.

They leave... never come back.

Some people make it out of the prison alive. They become our guards. At first they swear that they will be responsible, and not abuse their power. They claim they’ll help us.

And they do at first.

Then they forget where they came from. To them it becomes a rat race to the top. How many of us can they force to conform? How many of us will they lose in that process? We lose our value and become numbers. Some of us aren’t even important enough to be considered numbers. We’re just extras. A few of us may get lost, but no one will notice. No one will mourn for us. No one will mourn for me.

I am a person, or so I am told.

I live, I breathe, and I eat. I feel happy sometimes. I feel distant most of the time. I hurt, I cry, I am a living misery. I want it to end.


...No, I don’t.

I thought someone would look past that convincing facade. I want to be told, I want someone to tell me it’s okay to cry. I don’t want someone to solve my problems. I want someone to hear them.

But I have no one. I have people who think they fill that role for me, but they don’t. I test them sometimes. I show a little emotion to see how they react. I retreat from them to see who will look for me. I angle myself away and cry.

And they hardly ever notice.

Ever wish you were invisible? That’s a mistake. You need to be noticed by one person. Someone.

I need to be noticed by one person. Someone.

-Him.



What is pain? It’s a feeling that under normal circumstances cannot be created by the body. When those circumstances change though, so can the feelings.

Pain is just something felt by a living organism. It comes in many shapes; pleasure is a form of pain in a way. But really, what is pain?

Pain is a foreign feeling that the body doesn’t like. It is unpleasant and action is usually taken to make it stop. But once a body gets used to a certain type of pain, is it still pain?

--Over--

I need a hero, I’m holding out for a hero till the end of the night. He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be larger than life. -Bonnie Tyler

It’s not always rainbows and butterflies. It’s compromise that moves us along. –Maroon5

The smile when you tore me apart. You took my heart, deceived me right from the start. You showed me dreams; I wished they turn into real. You broke a promise and made me realize. It was all just a lie. –Within Temptations

Everything is changing, and no one’s left that’s real, to make up your own ending, lemme know just how you feel. -Puddle of Mudd



I was here, but now I’m gone
I’ve left my name to tum

Those of you who know me
Know we well

Those of you who think you know me
Can go to hell



He doesn't know exactly when, but at some point between the last leg of his speech and the abrupt cut-off of all sound, his vision became tinted red, as if a vermilion filter has been placed over his eyes. In this cherry haze, his anger flows like a savage river, roaring and wild, untameable in its ferocity and brute strength. He does not recognize the actions of his body; he lets the raging torrent pull his limbs as they please.

Something has snapped, or more accurately, him, in his blind preaching, accidentally severed something within him, something holding his building rage back. Now free of its confines, the pent up emotions surge with the speed and strength of something with months of built-up pressure behind it. The force is unyielding and physical, like rapids slamming against a boulder in their path over and over again until it is eroded smooth, smaller, and finally... away.

It is the righteous vengeance of an entire town killed, coming from a soldier who could not defend them, who could only watch the bodies pile up as they fought hopelessly against a demon born from the fire and brimstone of hell itself.

It is the raw desperation for things to return to normal, to kill off the outsider and welcome back the heart his mind had chosen to shut out. The crave for silver, the hatred of gold, braided together and tied around a thin neck like a noose, pulling steadily tighter, tighter, forcing out air and leaving no opening for more.

“Shut up,” he snarls, eyes past the point of angry, past the point of rage, lost in something almost as black and hideous as his eyes.



Darkness. Once seeded within you, will grow and grow... stretching out it grasping tendrils to untainted places... until it overwhelms your sanity.
Taking one step away from the hurtful truth. Why does it seem to hurt more?



All this time I’ve tried to deny everything, it felt like walking blindfolded on a rocking ship, suddenly losing the balance and crashing onto the walls. But you’ve taken the blindfold away today. Everything is so clear now. I hate you, for bringing me into this harsh storm. But I want to thank you, for bringing me out of the darkness.



A stone heart, human emotions. Sometimes, the heart doesn't seek your consent before it starts warming. I'm sorry.



A cold heart trapped in endless denial. How bad could it get?



The heartbeats are so painful, he stops breathing, but the pain doesn't cease, and for once, he hopes to stop living altogether.



.I know how it feels to lie so often, so convincingly.
.I could so easily see you were strange.

How could I not, when it was like looking in a mirror?

.you can't tell them anything... hide yourself.
.or they'll never look at you again with the same eyes.



Those eyes tell me that you don't trust anything.



It's so simple. Always had been. Humans were weak, no matter how hard they tried.

Easy as that; but why did his chest constrict so painfully when he tries to tell himself that?



He was walking in the forest where almost no light could pierce through the thick foliage of the high firs, where almost no human dared come for fear of the unknown creature that lived there. Not even a single snowflake had managed to fall between the branches, leaving the ground bare of any trace of whiteness.

Alone; how it hurts.



He hung his head for a moment, taking in the words as they echoed within his head, before he looked up, and responded to nobody, eye glazed over with new resolve, "That's not my life anymore."

His fingers slowly quivered as the words reverberated throughout every piece of his body, coaxing a long, deep ache that bubbled and frothed from the core to every tip of his limbs. He could feel the memory of bloody mess he had become slowly extinguish; the intensity of the mistrust, the feeling of dread. It was a process he had become accustomed to; faced with the brink of madness, his only salvation was to retreat within his own mind and slowly rearrange himself. The sweet embrace of denial, the kiss of the grandiose lie. Though he slowly began to drain away all that was himself, for the sake of his own preservation, he could finally breathe steadily. His body became thankful for the relief.

As he looked into the mirror, he stood back, surveying this refreshed face; cleansed of the memory of the night before as if it had never existed. His eyes, though shadowed with lack of sleep, bore nothing within; no chaos, no pain. Instead, he replaced his mistrust with obligation, and his fear with reconciliation.

The young man that looked back at him was not tethered to the demon. He had defeated him; toppled the black king with his own hidden piece; a daring move, but a victorious one. He had won the game of dominance and earned his own freedom and pride in return, and he should have relished his prize, despite the strings attached.


What a disgustingly convincing lie.. Only those ignorant passers-by would believe. This lie created, for nobody but others.

...I'd rather you forget me.



Facing the tall mirror, he could see himself, facing the person who, until moments before, had eyes wild with panic and madness... losing himself to the overwhelming pain of the world, allowing himself to be weak.

Within his mind, the chaotic war fueled by panic and paranoia came to an abrupt halt. As he stared at his own reflection, he gently swept the pain aside, and held out a blank slate before his mind's eye, writing down mentally a simple, yet horribly complex question that took him nearly an hour to answer: What do I see?



And I gave up.



They struck out at each other, swift and sure as dueling serpents; the sharp peal of impact and the harsh draconic hiss of metal on metal, the tremor of straining muscles magnified in the vibrating steel blades – their bodies awoke on a plane they had never known –

- and then they were curling away, spinning like butterflies in the breeze, in this ballet of hate and romance and desire – he was lost in its tale; his eyes weren’t seeing, his ears weren’t hearing, his heart wasn’t even beating – but, oh, how clearly he felt it, this inexplicable intense hunger –

- together, apart, together, apart, and together once more, each clash a struggle for dominance – that this would last, just awhile more, till he could be released -

The pace stepped up, and he gave ground almost gracefully, his nubile white flesh rippling and elongating as he blocked and ducked and back stepped.

Now the bed was at his back, and he had him by the throat at sword point. He jerked his head, and his sword fell from numb, nerveless fingers.

Death; it comes rather suddenly doesn't it?



The facade he wore was the only lifeline in a vortex from which he could not escape. He had to hold on to it. They didn't understand, he couldn't give it up, he really couldn't.



Our dance is a ruthless tango of blood and power that has lasted for years, and finally he had been outdone, left the stage as naught but sparkling pearls of dust.



His heart crashed to the ground in millions of little pieces, which were then disintegrated into dust, blown away by the wind of heart-wrenching reality.

Self- loathing filled the space where the crushed heart used to be as he looked at the retreating figure of him.



His feet thumped on the ground with a desperation that the owner of the feet seemed to have. Blood flew from the injured hand but it hardly stung compared to the throbbing hurt in his heart. Boots stomped down the endless maze of hallways and concrete pillars soon became a blur. Untied long hair flitted by the breeze created with the speed of his running. Some of the strands whipped across his face and neck while most of his hair moved along with the quick wind. His mind was filled with total chaos...

“Stop helping me! You are nothing. Nobody wants your trust! Nobody ever needed your help!”

He was wrong… He had been wrong to believe it would’ve lasted… Everyone was the same. He was nothing, nothing at all. He was not wanted. He was the person who stood and smiled for others, the one who kept it all shut inside the deepest part of him, the one to offer help, the one to readily trust people, but he was never wanted. The world would still spin if he didn’t exist, the sun would shine in the morning and the stars would twinkle at night with the moon… Life would go on.

The irony of life…

“Stop helping me! You are nothing. Nobody wants your trust! Nobody ever needed your help!”

In the end, it all came down to one thing. Hope. Frivolous, fickle-minded hope. Oh, how strong hope could make you feel and how deep it made you fall. How he had though that he had to be strong for everyone around him but the truth was… You never know when it might betray you and stab you in the back. How the hope of one, just one small person, could make you try to change and be a better person. You would try with all your might to change, give up all the principles and the rules you lived by. How just a small drop of hope made you feel as if life does have a meaning for you and that your existence wasn’t a mistake after all…



As he thought of loss, he couldn't help but think; How much did he lose before he lost his own mind? As he wandered within himself, he bit back his own question, how much did he have to lose before he lost his? Though the memory nipped at his heels like a ravenous dog, his abused heart had refused to glance back at the obvious loss that had plagued him for years, baring the mortifying mistrust. However, no matter how fast he could run, he could not escape the memory as it finally clamped down upon his consciousness.

Within himself, he broke down, falling to his knees as he felt the flood of loss envelope him. He had lost everything.



A cinematic record is a ghostly reel that depicts the duration of a person's life; a movie composed of one's sinner and saintly moments, which could only be viewed upon one's own demise. As he lay in the darkness with himself, he could swear he was watching his own cinematic record, as memory after painful, brutal memory slowly floated up his subconsciousness.



Staring, long and hard, at the boy as an aura of darkness seemed to surround him, as he looked on the verge of laughing maniacally, quivering all over, eye wild with torment,

He stared at him, seeing his eye staring off into nowhere, as if it was lost in a dark, dismal place, and couldn't see what was in front of it.



One particular phrase over and over in his mind; 'this was the life you chose for yourself, and it was your choice alone.'



Ones, who have been fighting forever, tend to miss the finer things in life. Or rather, the smaller things. Those little misconceptions that make us so… human.

The world is a place where some people fight for a greater cause than one can envision. The threats of mistrust, broken bonds, dangerous thoughts are nothing but a nuisance with him here to protect the people. The people look to them as saints, God's angels, maybe even Gods themselves. They are worshiped, loved, adored by all, who see them as expectations for their new world. They are not human, they are tools. With power equally as powerful, and equally as terrifying to the intangible threats, the people both fear and respect them.
...For who else will save them?

On the outside, they are saviors to mankind. On the inside, they are tools. These people seem to be in the middle of a teeter totter. That which is nothing sits on one end, and that which is everything sits on the other. Rocking back and forth, forever and ever, never quite so meaningless but also never… human.

It’s a constant battle in one's heart, being nothing and everything, but still not human. Something that cannot be hugged, cannot be loved, cannot be broken or fixed. Something that can’t be happy, can’t be sad, can’t be anything but what the tool was built for. Destroyer is the word, which is what every one of these people are. Not a savior, not a threat, not a human, but a destroyer.

But they still look human. They sound human. They can feel, and hear, and they weep and laugh like a human. Does that not make them human? Humans themselves always seem to be in a constant battle of what is human and what is not. Them… they still want what all humans want. Regardless of prejudice or exploitation…we all have a heart to follow. And follow it we do.



He always thought of himself like a butterfly even in the early years of his life. Not because of the frail beauty such a living thing possesses, no. To him being a butterfly is anything else but beautiful. He didn’t wanted to be one because it is destined to be crushed by the hands of Fate after living a short life. No matter the specie, the colour or the partners and enemies, the butterfly will forever be at Fate’s mercy, never knowing when or where it will meet its pathetic end.

And true to the fate of a butterfly, his end was approaching quickly with every petal that fell, with every battle he wore, with every breath he took. And again he pushed his body to the limit, believing in his frail strength and in his desire to keep walking this ground. He kept moving his ripped wings as they regenerated, not knowing why or for what purpose, only looking for the established goal, without break.

Black holes that absorbed everything returned to the present just in time to see how the fascinated boy let go of the rabbit, the plush falling on the ground and particles of dirt sticking to its face as its owner extended his arms and fingers to catch the insect.

A shiver ran down the swordsman’s back as the butterfly was caught with a swift movement. It was done for now. He could not help thinking 'you killed it, idiot', his mind providing him an image of what would happen when his own life will end.

Will it really be as painless as it looks like? Being crushed without escape between soft fingers of whiteness and falling in the never ending waters of sleep?



A moth entered the room from the opened door and flew around the room looking for a light warmer than that of the moon.

Or maybe I’m a moth. Not a butterfly, but a moth. A creature of darkness that always and forever will look for the warmness of a sun I’m not allowed to touch. That certainly seems more like me.

A pale finger shone in the light filtered through the window outside the room and attracted the attention of the nocturnal insect. It posed graciously on the stretched digit and stood still, drinking in the warmness coming from the other's skin.

He smiled innocently to both the moth and the boy at his side who watched him fascinated not taking his eyes from either him or the insect.

It flew away after a few moments, returning to the cold night and to the dead light. Black and silver. A moth and a butterfly. Day and night. Warm and cold. They are all opposites, but that night, he felt the warmness and brightness of the other entering his soul and making something change. He did not know what it was, but he surely felt something different.

Maybe you’ll help me also become human. A creature in which both darkness and light reside and which is both warm and cold if needed. Maybe you’ll show me how to become trusted and bright.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand me as you understand the butterfly and the moth, gentle but not afraid that you could break me.



He could feel himself diving further into the dark depths of his mind as the words dissipated it the cold substance. He could no longer see the place he came from, darkness wrapping around his body and soul.



He didn’t cry.

He laughed and smiled.

He joked around and annoyed the hell out of him.

He was a martyr that lay down is life for anyone and anything.

He did not cry – not like this.

This wasn't him.

This wasn't the him that he knew.


A tiny change; pushed back.



His eyes were cool and distant. And his cheeks seemed to run with bloody tears. He wondered about the other side of him that he didn’t allow anyone to see.

And he wondered what he could have possibly gone through…

…For him to be the person he was today. And for him to have such hollow, lonely eyes.

Yes, he wondered about him.

For he had a heart that no one really knew much about.



Just a puppet on a lonely string. Oh who would ever want to rule the world? Who would ever want to be king? This dead and empty world. Nobody wants it. Just puppets on lone strings.



“Your violent response, your agitation, your heartbeat raising. It’s what you humans call ‘denial’ and what I, as a demon and a bystander, call stupidity.”



Silence seems to tell more than what words can.
:. Are you still alive?
:: ...
What words can do, silence does better.
:. Do you think...do you think you can still trust?
:: ...
How words cut, silence lacerates its way in. Deep.
:. Why?
:: Everybody moved on. In this spinning world, it was only you who lost your way.

:. Why?
:: ...



The heart is like a tightly locked, chained and buried chest: Impossible to get at, even with the key, the map and the strength to do so.



“You can trust me.”-- It was an empty promise. But even an empty promise can be comforting.



The cast has arrived, the stage is set, all that is left is from the events to unfold. So as I continue to type this story up, events unfold.

It's kick ass time.



The Gods thought it was time to kick Time down to Earth and then come back a lifetime later and tell them stories. Or maybe it was just coincidence that the knights of the Great War were all in one small district, even I believed so, all of us in such a small pinpoint in this world. But we’re here, meaning the stage was set for us to dance across and act each event out and that is when the curtains are lifted and our act begins.

Let's fight.



“Let’s get straight to business.”

Says the man who came late.


A splatter.

"There was none to begin with."

Says the only man present.



Deep inside his core, every painful emotion, every brutal memory, instantly came crashing down upon hiss soul in a single heavy torrent, crushing him beneath the immense weight. He cried out, screaming as he unleashed his rage, disgust, dread, fear, loneliness, pain, feeling it all radiate from his soul in a loud resonance, sharp as a thousand razors as the thousand pieces of hiss tormented soul shattered within him and crashed against every corner of him, cutting him to the bone. As he looked into those two haunting crimson orbs, filled with the infernal fires of Hell, he could feel them judging him, stripping his soul apart piece by piece.

The memory of his lives felt like one knife after another, and those infernal crimson eyes continued to stab each and every one of them deep into his vulnerable heart, twisting the blades and reducing the organ to a pulp. Each memory slammed against the fragile glass of his sanity and reduced it to crystalized powder, forcing him to writhe in terror and disgrace as he stared into the garnet fires of Hell embedded within that face made by intricate patterns...of blood.

Every second in the presence of the demon felt like teeth tearing his flesh apart; the pain was so intense, he could feel his heart threatening to explode from his chest. Those two crimson eyes, that had watched him in his restless dreams, his waking hours, always haunting him, now in the flesh, staring deep into the bloody abyss that had become him. He thrashed against his own frozen confines, and shook violently, desperate to free himself from that horrible stare... from the beast that had haunted him for six long years, filling every dream with nothing but judging crimson... mocking him, cursing him, plaguing him, suffocating him, killing him...

Why doesn't it ever end?



He couldn't wash his hate away, but he could wash all the evidence of the dementia, and now, as his lungs ached and his limbs burned from his desperate flight, plagued by memories that ripped and tore at his ankles and back of his head, the crescendo of the violin as it's own voice intensified flooded his ears and his chaotic mind, and as he turned down one darkened corner, he wanted his personal salvation more than anything in the world.

Silence.

Everything in the world didn't matter anymore. Thought did not exist, doubt was dead, and whatever pain that plagued his mind before now amounted to nothing. As his sapphire gaze beheld a sight so beautiful, so terrible, that his entire being felt as if it had been severed from the living plane, and he had fallen into the blackness of Oblivion, the same black that the shadow was dressed in as he stared back at the bloody angel, eyes like sparkling rubies in the light of the full moon.

Blood, carelessly splattered on the confines of the place he had come to.

He could feel nothing inside him. His body was empty; a rigid, hollow shell, as he stood frozen to the ground, staring into the eyes of the young man dressed in pure midnight, perched upon a wooden box, supporting the body of a scarlet violin against his shoulder, while his other pale slender fingers lay caressing the bow as it lay dormant in his grasp, warm from playing the sonata that had flooded the streets of Montmartre. Face stoic and eyes cruelly unreadable.

The unbreakable eye contact lasted an eternity, and his mouth made an effort to move, yet no words, no sound came tumbling from his lips. His tongue felt heavy as lead, and slowly, his limbs began to ache as if they were made of dense metal as he made every effort to back away.

"My, how time never fails to surprise me with the changes it brings," the voice, soft, deep, so familiar, yet so unearthly, so distant, chilled him to the bone, unlocking the gates within him, and allowing a steady flow of dread to slowly bubble up within his empty shell. His body began to shake horribly, as he desperately searched inside himself for the will to run away, to hide, to bolt for his life, and found he had no such ability. Distressed, he felt the overwhelming fear spill over and his eyes tear up with helpless agony. The most he could do was will his head to shake back and forth.



Nothing more is said as the words hold the clarity of the matter which, in fact, isn’t in any way clear. It’s indistinct and hazy, a picture that has been taken too many years ago. There might be no one that knows the answer, even if there is one that can know it.

And the silence that lingers around the ruins is chased away, just like always. Silences aren’t meant to last.



They’re meant to come and go.



A step is taken, then another. A hand is held out, for the lone one of the other to grab. A glance is exchanged, telling all that which needs to be told. A run is started, one that will last till the moment the death arrives.

And there is a destination…

…hovering in the distance like the first rays of the dawn, marking the direction which will be taken next, guiding their steps along the way. It is an indefinite destination, one of the Endings and Beginnings, narrator of new lives.

And there is also a hope…



There is a breeze swaying the hair that has been left like it is for days, tugging playfully at the hem of the cloak, reminding him of several things. It leaves behind a fraught of warmth, a lingering shadow that is slowly fading as the dying Summer wanes away. It’s a bittersweet memory, one of the times you’d call better even if they’re full of death and pain. But that’s just the way things are…

…time plates memories with gold and honey…

…and people think that better days will come, because there once were…

…even if that’s only an illusion.

The man knows illusions all too well, has seen them for too long to ever forget their essence. Such a sweet net, made of dreams and hopes, built to look like crystal and light, reflecting everything like a house of thousand mirrors and freezing more than permafrost. So strong, yet so fragile.



“I trust you.” It was a quiet statement, his voice reaching a part of his soul that he hadn’t known existed, a comforting presence in his mind and heart.



:. How could one like me ever hope to save anyone when I can’t even save myself?

Bitterness masked by the flawless mask he wore.

:.But it’s more than just ending something; I can’t do anything of the sort.

A pause.

:. I understand now why he wouldn’t turn back. He knew that your world of infinite black and white was much more muddled than anyone could possibly believe. Darkness is illuminated by light much in the way that the light is tainted by the darkness, giving rise to many shades of grey.”

His laughter resounded through the air as he caught him stiffly in the gut. He coughed, feeling winded from the blow whilst also noting the fact that the threat had managed to only stimulate his need for justice.

Forearm pressing up against his throat.

:. You tell me to open my eyes and I’ll tell you that I have, I know my role and if nothing else I wish to play it until curtain call, because that is what I was taught to do.

:: My physical body may rot and decay but what I’ve done in this world will never die, and you are testament to that fact.

Knowing that he’d won either way – though death hadn’t been on his schedule for the day.

:. For everything in this world there are always two sides, although it's difficult to see this delicate balance maintained. There is absolutely nothing that you or I can do to change that.

:: This world wasn’t made for people like us.

:. And yet we are forced to live in it.

Bile rising in his throat.

:: We make use…of what we are given...and we do what we can…but it’ll never be enough.

His ever present maniacal grin not fading even as his breathing ceased. Then silence blanketed the room – a very final foreboding type of silence that seemed to mock him in the aftermath of his crime.

Blood on his hand.

.:. Now that the lamb is stained, it can no longer belong in this world.

:. I never belonged in the first place.

Turning his back on everything of and within the dark mansion, walking aimlessly onto the cold and unforgiving snow.



:. There isn’t a damn thing in this world worth protecting. You have nothing, no family, no past, no hope and even the people hate you.

Piling up his grievances.

:: Why do you keep fighting for them?

:. I keep fighting because I have nothing

A moment of silent deliberation.

:: Self-sacrifice is all I have to offer as atonement.

:. And you come here for your atonement? There is no salvation for this world and even if there was you wouldn’t find it here.

:: Perhaps if I were to fulfill the destiny fate has placed upon me, God may take pity on this world and it may begin to change for the better.

:. You’re an idealistic dreamer; such things will never come to pass. You’re deluding yourself if you think that you will be able to make a difference all by yourself.

Your destiny to bring about an end to the war you’ve been waging.

...Too damn confusing.



Eyes dulling with a conflicting ferocity.

...What the hell is it that I want?



:. Why is it that strangers take pity on creatures like these but will turn a cold shoulder on their own?

:: Humans are fickle creatures. They do things simply because they can, and if they can’t then they try harder, always striving to reach the unattainable.

:. That doesn’t make any sense.

:: They can’t help others of their kind for fear of being left behind. Life is a race to the finish amongst humans. They lie and cheat and steal to get themselves ahead in life, but no matter what they achieve their end is always the same.



People like us are the ones, who’ve got the responsibility to put a wrench in the clockworks, raise the casualty count, bear burdens and shine a light into their blind eyes.



People are all flawed, some more than others but that doesn’t make them bad.

Weary; justifying people, if not myself.



Out of habit, falling into a rut of pleasantries, lies and deception… it was how he’d lived his life, since that.



Don’t feed them promises and hopes; such things burn the most when they’re taken away.

Contradicting.

Yearning for delusions; I don't really care anymore.



“I-I don't know.” His voice caught in his throat, unsure of how to deal with these raw emotions that were ramming against his shields.



“Why?” he asked childishly, shaking his head as if willing the answer to change, as if his denial would prompt him to snort mockingly at him, erasing the words with sardonic cruelty – yet he knew not why he wished it to be as such.



“As it turns out, I couldn’t even do that right,” his voice was hollow, reflecting the drafty spaces in his mind and heart.



Sitting alone on the beach, drenched head to toe in the cold November rain, empty eyes staring out at the torrential waters with a well of despair and self loathing. He was trembling, and if he had been anyone else he wouldn’t have noticed the tears rolling down the tender cheeks amidst the rain. He looked completely resigned, as though he’d given up on everything in the world.



Knees buckled as silver eyes traced the stormy seas. He collapsed, head bowed, humbling himself before nature’s wrath, the unrelenting waters spilling down upon him.



Red.

Cardinal.

Ruddy.

Slowly the world spun, twirling smoothly all around him, distances twisted in a morbid, sickening way, varying constantly. He was falling upwards, swaying down through the substance below him and floating to the sides. Gravity rushed away from him, vacuum crushing his body to heap of lifeless meat.

Carmine.

Sanguine.

Crimson.

Shadows danced through the room from one wall to another, circling him, surrounding him until they were everywhere and nowhere, bleeding into each other so well that he didn’t know whether they were one color or not. Darkness rotated with light, rolling over him again and again, flashes of the reality emerged from the madness only to fade away moments of later.

Flame.

Gleam.

Fire.

Insane grin and knife lunging down to his chest.

Horror.

Pain.

Blood.



If he couldn’t have him completely to himself, then his life was not worth living? It was such a childish notion, wanting to risk it all for the other completely, from their hearts to their souls. He despaired at the foolish, romantic notion of humans, obsessed with the strange, elusive illusion they believed to be trust. It was nothing but a delusion, nothing but a strange fanciful term to ease the passage of years, a farce to calm the delirium of society into believing that they too, could belong to someone who would trust them as completely as they had hoped.

Pray tell, why has the world fallen into suck a pitiful wreck of a state?



Life and death no longer seemed as distinct as they were but reflecting mirrors showing the touch of two hands separated by an invisible divide.

No reason to pick life over death. My humble apologies.



The sky was a dull spread of blood.

Thick droplets slid, sticky and wet, off the petals of the flowers and the slanted stems of the leaves before falling gently into the damp, dark soil.

What an utterly horrible day. Just as utterly horrible as he is.



Lost it all. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream my shock to the skies.

For the first time, I'm letting go. Shit.



What about the sun? You never realised, did you, that blood could be spilled, even with the sun around. You never realised, did you, that happiness could be found, even in the darkest storms.

Screwed perceptions; stop forming stereotypes for your deluded mind. Go look for a fairy tale if you want one. There isn't any here.



Pride sinking beneath the waves of blood, drowning it.

...Or should I say, emerging from the waves of blood? Weren't we told, to take pride in everything we do?



Suddenly, inexplicably very, very tired. Giving up isn't an option. It wasn't meant to be. It was part of the process all along.



A speck of rain hit the window, sliding down the glass like a solitary tear, the only warning before the heavens opened and the vista beyond the window was lost behind a curtain of water.

Kinda sums everything up, doesn’t it?



Spent too much time alone and indifferent. Shit. Can't find myself.



Sad excuse of an organ. Let's stop it. But not before we crush it.



Through that vicious battle, the world was saved...But at the cost of trust. His trust. --It had always been for the greater good.



His heart had died from a strike to his weakest point...His trust.



Void. Lost all of it. Freaking nonchalance. I highly doubt it's feigned. Everything can bloody go to effing hell for all they want. Inflicted upon. What am I? A mirror?

--

Acrimonious voices. I hate those hypocritical words. Sinking into inebriation. Looks to me that it's not even predilection. It's a bunch of naiive idiots lacking Saccharin. I wish I could bring myself to stop the anger, but why not let it all out? Things become clearer when people are angry. Hurt nobody but yourself. Hell. What a twisted principle I've come to develop. How pathetic am I? Losing the imperative; I doubt I care anymore. The onerous and sarcastic comments. Meant to be ineffable. Forced out, and they go way harsher than you ever thought they would. Is dastardly the right word? Peremptory. Nobody stops. I see no need for the alcove. Nobody's going to sit with me. Obsolete recess. Thanks so much.

--

Should I give up now? I'm so damn sick of this cycle that seems to be an oxymoron yet bothers me so. Does anybody notice? Does anybody bother to stop it? There's no need to wait anymore. It's over. Damn it all. No boundaries. Lean a little further. You may get what you want.



:. I'm thinking of something. -smirks-

:: Excuse me, but if you’re thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking, you're wrong.

:. Oh, but how can you tell that I’m thinking what you’re thinking that I’m thinking?

Two can play at that game.

:: Merely by the fact that you ask me whether I can tell that
you’re thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking already implies that you know what I’m implying and are just asking to confirm what I’m actually implying so that you can imply that you do not know what I’m implying.

-Confused-



I hate that white inferno.



A white dove; a black raven. It's only natural for the darkness to be eliminated.



Lying defeated on the ground
Mind fading into darkness
I curl myself up and brace for the impact
As the memories return

Overwhelming pain,
Unconcealed.
No voice remains.
Fingernails continually scratching the flesh above my heart
Trying to alleviate the pain,
leaving trails of mesmerizing blood behind



The darkness is beckoning
pain is so alluring
they're making their way to me

I prepare myself to what's about to come
as I drench myself in the pain
I blind myself with the darkness

So tired of fighting...
So why not embrace it?
People keep disappointing you over and over

Holding the pain away for so long
exhausting and painful
but misery loves company



Don't question your existence. You'll find that there's no answer to it.

Evil.



What was behind that scowl, you never wondered, did you?

Behind that scowl was a soul. A torn and tattered soul that had braved through countless storms, enduring the searing pain of lightning; the crashing waves of guilt that made it rock in imbalance; the rain of pain that pelted down on that unprotected being; the scary sound of thunder that resonated through its every fibre, with nobody to cover its ears for it; the wet dread that seeped through its very clothes; the cold terror that struck him down. What a storm. A pity, the storm never ended. Never has, never will. But the light in that soul has long since ended.

Why? All the attributes of the storm, directed at it, and it solely. Why wasn't there a finial to spare him the pain? Why wasn't there an anchor to redeem what was left of the pitiful ship from those turbulent waves? Why wasn't there an umbrella to shield it from the rain that cared nothing for it? Why wasn't there earmuffs to cover its ears for it? Why wasn't there a pair of cotton gloves to regain some warmth for that being that was incapable of doing so for itself? Why was it that the pair of hands, the crushing embrace he waited so long for in the rain never came?


In this bet, you lost. Before those hands of your illusion came and put a coat around your shoulders, your knees betrayed you. The bitter irony. Can you see what's behind the scowl now? Of course not. What was once behind has been lost in that voyage into uncharted territory. That was what you got for trying, for risking it all.
...For putting your Faith in him. He never once looked at you. Die.



:. When the time comes, you'll save me.

:: And why do you believe so?

:. I guess that's what trust is.



A single rose blooming from the pool of blood. Is it really so hard to believe that you finally found a sanctuary?



An unbreakable hubris over the painfully morbid life. Is it really him?



Something easier;

Forced to endure countless tortures of the mind and body within his short life, he tried desperately to keep his structured brilliant sanity intact with as much sealant as he could; though the leaks of pain and memory continued to leak through the vulnerable cracks. Every day had a lingering parade of memory, and it took all his will to push it away and concentrate on his tasks.



Immortalized in that doll's horrible face; a painful reminder targeted at him, and only him.



With nine hundred and ninety-nine paper cranes I’m always just one away.

Even so I see the thousandth flying over the horizon where it’ll forever be waiting for me.

But when I reach it, I think I no longer have the privilege of making the wish.



Amidst the stark white walls, I found comfort in something other than the overbearing despair. I found my sanctuary in the black void that rejected all things the white absorbed.



Slamming my hands down on the keys, a foul disharmony of notes piercing the air.

I don't want to die.



It’s so beautiful and deceptively pure but it’s a void deeper and colder than anything else. It swallows all the other colors, engulfs all the joy and brightness that comes with them leaving only despair. Ironic isn’t it that black chooses to reject the colors, preferring its silence and loneliness while white, the seemingly perfect counterpart is the one who causes the deepest pangs of hopelessness?

White shows the world its perfection and lights the way, though it’s leading everyone astray – it’s a color of betrayal and madness. It’s kind of funny. A savior? A warrior for God? Rather a Judas in his midst. My very existence is a contradiction.


I hate white.



White walls, a stark white void of all encompassing depression. White, bearing all colors and absorbing all colors yet displaying none – it swallows expression and hope in its misleadingly innocent pallets.



The burden of time can be harsh, the seconds and minutes and hours bleed into days and weeks and months, constantly wearing away resolve and hope. But if nothing else exists but tomorrow, if forever is only one day away you’ll always be able to make it back to the track. My life and yours. It's fate.



You can’t win a game that has no end. Be the end. You're saving everybody else.



Seen more than my fair share of things. You shouldn't have to be the same.



Apology shone through the glazed eyes that would always see the world differently from everyone else.



Forced on, a lonely puppet dancing a destructive tale on the stage he’d been chained to.



So very weary

– a knight fighting a battle that I can't comprehend the reason behind –

pure chaos meant to destroy and give rise to something new perhaps?

A new world where none of this unexplainable anarchy existed.

But having fought all the way,

trampling over the increasing pile of bloody corpses,

I begin to doubt.

Does this kind of world even exist?

I step tactfully out of the way of the outstretched hands,

having known that the ending would be the same.

The blind hope, the false trust,

...then the guilt crashing down.

They were all the same, each crying out piteously,

the hideous shadows that lurked.

Trying to pull them up,

then seeing more hands reach out;

dragging us down altogether.

Too many times.

I see how helpless I am,

all I could do was step out of the way

and continue, keeping the well-placed exterior there.

--

The world is dying.



Meaningless existence. A wrench in the clockworks, doing more damage than good.



There is a word to describe such blissful self-induced ignorance. It’s called denial.



Overly honest. Just as unnerving as the liar. Then what's the difference? Was there no difference from the very start?



Always smiling and laughing amidst a war as if nothing is wrong. You can’t save anyone and yet you smile that sickening joy of yours, pretending nothing is wrong. Are you really that naiive?



Sacrificing himself to save the nearest fool, is it that strange?



There's nothing wrong with being sick of the truth, just like pushing away from pain.

Nothing wrong at all.



He couldn’t help but want to rip out his useless damaged heart and just find solace in the darkness.

;Too long.



Just a bit more to make you cry. Make you hate yourself. ‘Cause you’re never happy unless you’re hating yourself.

;Insanity. He's finally lost it.



Life isn’t perfect and things come and go as they please, so when you get a chance, seize the day.



If trusting was going to hurt me, I could never be sure, but I'm willing to find out.



I’ve never asked you to trust me, call it self-serving moral satisfaction if you will, but I don’t want you to die and with the way you’re going that’s exactly where you’re heading.

Don't do it, please, if not for my sake.



It had gone far enough and he wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. The emotions trying to claw their way out from where he’d safely locked them behind his mask and the memories stealing into his thoughts had been the final straw. He couldn’t afford to lose himself after working so hard to prevent the same thing from ever happening again.



Chamomile and valerian. Sedate me. I don't want to wake up.



But what he was speaking of was a complete isolation, looking at everyone as if they were his enemy and being wearier of those who showed him the slightest bit of compassion. If trust was what he feared, then there was something seriously wrong with him.



I won’t stop nor will I help you if you can’t manage.

About time too. This was how it was supposed to be.



Even so with all the shit he’d undergone in his life, he'd wanted to have someone look at him, just once, to see him with understanding eyes. For that short time he’d thought that person to have been him, but that too was just a sorely broken trust and fractured images of a misplaced fantasy.



It was that very devotion that he had never been able to understand. How deep the emotions did a person require to risk everything for someone else? He’d never seen anything other than sorrow come from any sort of trust, so what would make someone want to resurrect such a bond only to eventually lose it again? Wasn’t once enough of a blow?

I know I've had enough.



Happiness is an illusion that does nothing but cause pain.

Don't be deceived.



Things are ever susceptible to change. Of those lost, they can always be found if one is willing to seek them out.

Lies, all of them. Accepting them, may be a good thing to do once in a while.



No matter the pains or struggles the sun always rises to dispel the darkness. Sometimes it just takes a little longer than usual.

The rainbow after the storm; I've waited too long. Far too long.



I'm fine with my life now, and watching so many others as they fall one by one. It's a game I love to play. I'm winning this game, and I'm glad that I don't have you on the board anymore!

Sadism, a characteristic that never seems to fade.



“Black joker, red joker

Are casting the dice

Wagering who will pay the price

Grinning evilly at every demise

Their eyes grow colder

Colder than ice”

--

“Black joker, red joker

Which one will we blame?

Even if they’re always the same

We won’t realize

So throw the dice and deal the blow

Claim your prize and end the game

As the joker announces the winner’s name”

--

“Black joker, red joker

Keep shuffling the decks

As the players feel nooses tighten around their necks

In this game there’ll be no truce

You can only win or lose

So choose wisely for as I say

You’ll get nowhere

Even if you pray”

--

“Black joker, red joker

My favorite dealers

The fools of truth may see you as healers

But they won’t pull through to see you as sealers

Catching humanity in a never-ending chain

Of need, of greed and putting one to shame

So join in everyone and you’ll never be the same

In this round who will be taking the blame?”

--

“Black joker, red joker

Keep dealing the cards

While the players are all assembling the shards

Of broken hearts and broken deals

Of lies and truths that no one feels

Is worth dealing with for the things they reveal

About the still bleeding wounds and the unhealed scars they shield

Another game

Another playing field

Another round

All players bound

To keep on gambling

To keep on scrambling”

-

Humanity itself, as it made its foolish decisions and always tried to put the blame onto someone else. A foolish humanity that didn’t accept that there were things which would be lost and that all people would eventually die. Humanity put their hopes and beliefs into a God that had since long stopped listening to their prayers, or at least were the one laughing at them from above. Humanity was and would forever be foolish, unable to see anything beyond what their own needs and greed showed them. Humanity was a slave to their own desires, so they would even gamble with the devil in order to get what they wanted… No matter whom they ended up sacrificing on the way…

-

“A glisten of gold

Gives birth to treason

For when greed is involved

No one will listen to reason

From the cradle to the grave

Humanity will be a slave

To their own greed and the need to feed

The need to be loved and the need to breed

As they crave and as they yearn

Humanity will never learn

That they will only take what they try to save

With them to an early grave”

-

But he himself he was no better than them; he allied himself with the enemies of humankind and was likely going to aid in what would eventually lead to their downfall. But there was still a need for his existence; he still had a purpose in this world. Whether it was for a good purpose that he existed or for a bad one was up to the observer himself to judge. After all, good and bad were just empty words. They held no real meaning, just the illusion of it.

-

“Black joker, red joker

My favorite brokers

Keep building your maze

Catching greedy fools of disgrace

Lure them with gold and make them heed

Watch their eyes grow cold and fill with greed

The seed has been planted…”

--

“…A wish may be granted

The game it has started

All over again

Only this time

Just one will remain”



We’ve been together for long

So long that I find

That you’re the majority

Of what’s within my mind

As the world kept on turning

Time continued to rewind

I watch these scenes of terror

While wishing I was blind

--

We’ve been together for long

So long that I find

That you’re the majority

Of what’s within my mind

As the world kept on turning

Time continued to rewind

I watch these scenes of terror

While wishing I was blind

--

My life’s at your hand

Say will you understand

That if you go on

Then I will be gone

And you’ll find

That you’ve been left behind

--

Fighting a war that neither can win

My body holds no scars

Because they all lie within

My wrists may be clean

But my heart still bleeds

As you hold nothing for sacred

I sow seeds of hatred

Sending my prayers to someone above

Wishing that you’d someday return my love

Even if I’m already painfully aware

That all you’ll ever give me

Is that same cold stare

--

Hands curling into fists

Pulling brutally at my wrists

I’ll never flinch

Because if I do

You’ll make my worst nightmares come true

I won’t say a thing

To you or anyone

I won’t look away

From the monster you’ve become

I won’t show pain

When I trip and fall

Or when you get mad

And slam me into a wall

Only to get up when you tell me to follow

Since without you I’d be completely hollow

I rise at your call

So that you can make me fall

And as you slam the door

I fall to the floor

As the broken doll

That I am to you

--

Fighting a war that neither can win

My body holds no scars

Because they all lie within

My wrists may be clean

But my heart still bleeds

As you hold nothing for sacred

I sow seeds of hatred

--

Say will you understand

That if you go on

Then I will be gone

And you’ll find

That you’ve been left behind

When that comes true

What will you do?



And though he could not see the blaze in the sky, like a great orange nimbus encircling the chasm of Hell, the heat enwrapped their comparably small bodies, their pride quaking piteously before the lambent coruscation, frames frail and tiny against the powerful inferno that was concentrated on such a small deed. Within seconds, it ended.



The kid's eyes were dull and blank like a doll's. Something inside was broken and shattered to pieces. They were wide and unseeing.

They're just like mine, he realised with a sickening jolt.



Undisturbed silence, undisturbed existence. Or was there no existence in the first place?



The person who saw everything and felt guilty if he couldn’t save everyone. Boo. Was it such a surprise?



A grin was all it took to convince everyone that he was always alright. Prattling on about saving everyone. Hasn't anybody seen the forced smile? The broken trust, the shattered hopes. No, everybody was busy focusing on their own. Who'd have time for a being like he?

Taken for granted;
not minding.

Who said it never hurt?



Content with nothing by my side; is it normal?



Everyone has dreams, but as stipulated by the definition of the word, they’re idle hopes that are impractical and unlikely to ever be realized.



Ridiculous concepts like God and time and good and evil-- just byproducts of human insecurity. They seek meaning for their lives and when they can’t find it they exalt an idea, blindly placing their faith in it, doing terrible things justifiable by their conjured God. Then they scapegoat others because their God can’t possibly be at fault. Humans and their pathetic faith. Faith in a non-existent character.

Such a sickening game.

Even if there was a God, he’d not want such trivial fighting and such people speaking with blasphemous tongues as they condemned others of their kind to persecution and death. If there is a God, allowing such tyranny and chaos all in the name of 'testing our faith in Him' and 'for the greater good', he doesn’t deserve to be exalted.

Such a hypocritical gaze.



Stiff; nothing was ever done without a plan.
...

Things are more fun when you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

But have you realised, after your spontaneous fun you’ll end up in a ditch somewhere. What will you do when that happens?

Get up and keep going. Nothing comes out of standing still. If you fall, stand up and keep walking bec one day you’ll be dead and you won’t be able to walk anymore. Might as well make the most of the time you have right?
___

How do you know if nothing comes out of standing still isn't exactly what people are wishing for? No moves, no falls. Some people, only have that option to be contented with.

Nonchalance. Is it feigned?
I can't tell.



The letter dropped in and the flap shut with an ominous swish.

Goodbye.



From the beginning he was alone, and at the end, he was still alone.



The mask fell, leaving a moonlight beauty. It was not creepy or depressing, just sad. A passive sadness that the kid always fought, trying to cover it with useless, stupid masks.

Something simpler;



The stars gave away a sick, trembling light, as if they were ready to die.



Those deep crimson eyes staring back into his as the incomprehensible pain resonated within the two of them.



sometimes to you sorry doesnt matter, but how would you know if it matters to the person apologizing? it may not change anything, but yet, that word of apology may just bring relief to another's life.

--Okay, just saw it.

It doesn't matter whether it brings the person apologizing relief. You thought I was the one apologizing? Ha. Mockery. What if I was a bystander? And the last line was from the person, in his last minute? CPR, defibrillator, oxygen mask, needles. It was supposed to signify the person's death. The very last hustle he'll ever see. Apologies aren't meant to bring relief to the one saying it. Some people deserve to live with the guilt. Maybe that's the only way for them to see, to see how grave the consequences were. And because of them too. Funny how the world works, isn't it? He doesn't need to be at fault, yet he's the one bearing the consequences. So what if the consequence was death?



We sail, drift, push.

The memories play just beneath the water, close enough to touch. But I am afraid that if I do, they will vanish, and I will have nothing to lose.

I don’t know where we are going. I don’t want to know. I will not ask. Let there be some surprise for me at the end of it all.

Here we are. All questions answered. There is still some uncertainty ahead, but I am not afraid. Not yet.

I think I will be, when we get to where we are going. Afraid. I’m sure when the reality of it dawns on me, I will feel some sort of fear. But for now I am content.

We drift, push, sail.

We have not spoken much, this journey. I almost wish we would. But what would we say?

What could I say to him?

I could thank him. Because he deserves to know that much.

I could ask him what it will be like, when I die. Because I am curious, morbid as it may be.

Or I could be silent. And we could push, sail, drift.

I find myself caressing the flower on my thumb, a poor substitute for a diamond in silver. Although it is almost more precious. The dewdrop hovering on the end of the petals might be a tear. For me?

Perhaps.

And who else am I leaving behind?

I wonder. They were noisy and ignorant, all of them. But I trusted them too, I think. A long, long time ago.

And what of him? It’s not as if I’ve left him behind, as he is steering us along, sail, drift, push. I have a feeling he’ll always be there, even after I am really, truly gone. He’ll be there, wherever I end up, hiding in dark corners and smiling. He’ll be there, reminding me of what I was. He’ll be there. It’s the most I can hope for, after all.

Even when everyone else has abandoned me, and I them, he will never, ever, ever leave.

So what has my life been? I find myself thinking, as we pass the remnants in the river, of it all.

The horror of my twelfth year.

A red-eyed vision in black, with a centipede smile.

Sickness and comfort.

A dreamlike homecoming.

A brush with death and an explanation, and sobs in the dark.

A book, spewing lines of suicide.


A face that might or might not have been my own, with black, black eyes and curling lips.

A conversation about God, all echoes and paradox.


Insanity.

A different sort of god, who loved the color red.

An angel, neither man nor woman, fallen so far as to burn a city to the ground, ashes, ashes…

And, of course, horrible, distant, strange, soft, dear, dear, dear him, who kept me up through it all, who swore he would never leave me, in this life or the next, who trusted me in his own way, who showed me the truth…Whatever truth it was.

Him. An angel or a demon, I am not sure which, even now. Certainly, he was the former for me.

We push. Drift. Sail.

Something looms out of the water up ahead, all rock and leering trees.

We remain silent until the boat nudges the shore, just ever so gently. Behind me, he steps out onto the rocks.

The memories are drifting backwards, away from us, caught by some other current and tide.

I looked at the ring on my finger. The blue flower seems to be wilting, just slightly, turning grey in the moonlight.

It's dying.

Without knowing exactly why, I gently slide the flower from my thumb.

It will only die faster, where I am going.

It falls from my hand to the water below us in a soft silence, and lands without a sound. For a moment it floats indecisively, and then the current tenderly takes it.

It drifts off after my memories, almost indistinguishable now from the grey water.

I watch it vanish. We remain on the shore for a long, long time—eternity, perhaps.

The quiet we stand in has the feel of a farewell. Without knowing it I am saying good-bye to everything disappearing on the horizon.

He turns on his heel to face the trees. It is dark within, but I am not afraid, not yet. I will be, I think; when the feel of the rocking boat vanishes at last from my feet.

For now, I am quiet.

It’s all over now. I am leaving the world in silence:

Think well on me.
__________

Will you remember me...?



There is something odd about him in the dimness, as if the lights are shying away from him, as if they do not want to touch him.
__________


Shunned by even the lights; vile.



Completely obliterated from the world, only the hollow shell to remain.



It was cracking, the carefully constructed mask that he had adorned his face with since that fateful day…

It was cracking, falling to pieces before his very eyes as he stared into the mirror, seeing what he had become…

It was cracking, uncovering the true face which lay beneath…

He had been backed into a corner, with no way out as the sound of that accursed music resonated within him…

The guilt; crashing down on him.



-

No matter what you believed
To me you’re so easily deceived
So utterly naïve
I can’t take this anymore
For the hits you’ve taken
I sure hope you feel sore
Since I won’t be protecting you anymore

-

No matter what you say
Assuring me it’s gonna be okay
No matter whether they’re truths or lies
You may never look me in the eye
You ask what’s wrong
But I know very well
That you’re not strong enough
For the things I would tell

-

Abandon or abandoned
To me it’s all alike
Traitor or betrayed
Matters not to me
Since I just want to make sure
I’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see
Believe or disbelieve
Didn’t matter from the start
You never listened anyway
To the sound of me breaking apart

-

No matter what you say
Assuring me it’s gonna be okay
No matter whether they’re truths or lies
You may never look me in the eye
You ask what’s wrong
But I know very well
That you’re not strong enough
For the things I would tell

-

Living or dead
All the things you said
Over and over
Running through my head
You may have realized
But it’s far too late
Since it was the course of time
Which caused love to turn into hate

-

No matter what you say
Assuring me it’s gonna be okay
No matter whether they’re truths or lies
You may never look me in the eye
You ask what’s wrong
But I know very well
That you’re not strong enough
For the things I would tell

-

Friend or no friend
Matters not in the end
You only realized as I went to the door
That I am not your friend anymore

-



The curtains drew as the all-too-familiar hustle took place before him
His heart slammed into the rock bottom.
CPR, defibrillator, oxygen mask, needles.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered in a barely audible voice.

- - -

There are times when sorry isn’t enough, when apologizing doesn’t matter…



He was like air to them. No. He was even less than air. He meant nothing. He didn’t mean anything, not to anyone. No one understood him or even made an effort to do so. So what was the point of living anyway? Why exist when there was nothing to exist for? Why wait around forever when there was nothing and no one to wait for?



One step. Another. Like a man walking to his own execution. Slowly, slowly. But not too slow.

He was tired. So tired.

Tired of life. Tired of everything. Tired of walking down the stairs. Tired of walking up the stairs.

He suddenly turned around, looking down it. He found that it was really far down to the second floor from the place where he was currently standing.

By time it had become almost like a game to him.

“Look up or down, will I fall and drown, in an evening gown... Nope.”

He tried skipping to the next step, trying to lose his balance almost on purpose.

“Let’s roll the dice, ultimate demise or even worse to come… Nope.”

He skipped another step.

“Will I smile or will I cry, will I live or will I die…Say.”

He lost his balance, falling backwards, but he was soon steadied by a pair of hands, so he tilted his head back so that he could see who had stood in his way. A pair of golden eyes frowned at him.

“Please refrain from playing such dangerous games while I’m home, would you?”

He smiled back at the person, his smiles had fooled many before, but the man behind him with the golden eyes was apparently aware that the smile meant something else. That person had also been the first one to actually figure out that he was actually playing, even if it was with his own life.

The man with the golden eyes sighed.

“Keep behaving like that and you’ll never get out of here…”

In the end it was all the same to him, just a game.



They say that the first step is the most important step on your journey, simply because it is at the very start if it… It is the hardest, since you need to make a great decision in order to do it.

To take the first step.

The second step and the ones following that aren’t that hard to take, as long as the first one has already been taken.

Some even say that life itself is like a winding staircase leading upwards, but for each step you take and for each decision you make you move one step closer to a high fall…



Whenever you look in a mirror, who or what is it that is reflected back at you?
Is it you in there?
Or is it another you in there?
Or is it someone else?



Psychological pain was the only real pain for him, and that was one of the reasons of why he had always distanced himself from the world, always closed himself off from the world.

After all, in the end… He was not a being meant for this world. He never was.



Spread your wings...
...and have them ripped off.



Pins... like a butterfly on a corkboard... a soft touch... a redemption... an escape... and a neverending pain that will never fade until I
take it from you.

But do you know, that when I take the pain from you, nobody ever takes it away from me?



Hidden away from the world;
Tucked into a dark little corner.
Have you never wondered, was it for me?

Or for you?
__________________
Or did you simply choose to ignore it?



The human heart is a strange thing.
Delve deeper, and you won't ever find your way out.



Will you blame me if I run away?



The ugly truth. The look in my eyes; blurred. Marred by all the distrust. Will it last? I hope they don't. Because nobody can see me. Neither can I see anybody.

This blurred look. Fatal?