Don’t leave me, don't ever leave me. |
A man lost in a maze, he helplessly follows that glimmer of light, that escaping whisper of hope. That of his… people. He clings, and he clings, and he clings. Holding onto their forms with a crushing grip, forcing his face into the silk of their fur to the point of near asphyxiation. He cannot breathe without them, he cannot think without them, he cannot exist without them. He needs their presence, their voices, their warmth, more than he needs food in his belly, water in his mouth, or oxygen in his lungs. He is nothing without them, they are his sole reason to keep on living. His sole misplaced hope that maybe the next day will be brighter, that maybe the next night won’t be as dark. His grip is like death, he feels a deep sinking feeling when they frown, feels the blood drain from him when their skin breaks. He latches onto their faces and wipes away tears with a carefulness only a parent could give their own child. Their sword, their shield. He is only himself when they are with him. You cry and plead as though you have the right to. As if you have the right to hold out your hand to them, to ask—no, demand their help. They are kind, they are charitable, they have the mercy that you do not. They hold your useless body up when you can’t, there are no thanks you can give. They scare the nightmares away when your mind is weak, there are no thanks you can give. They deal with you when you can’t deal with your own sins, there are no thanks you can give. The only thing you can do to even come close to repayment is to be by their sides always. You can try, but even then it’s not enough.
My heart is in my chest, but it’s so far away. |
He wants to love. He wants to give love, he wants to receive love. Yet all his efforts are for naught. His smiles never come to his face when he calls, his eyes don’t sparkle with delight when he wishes, his voice doesn’t tilt or lilt with the ebb and flow of emotion. He is but a statue in face and figure, his touch is cold and hard, his eyes blank. He’d want nothing but to be a real boy, to smile, to gleam, to laugh. He wants his heart and soul to reach out to others and be reached for. He doesn’t want to be on the secluded island that he is stranded on. No one gets it, no one ever does. No one save for his other halves, those that can read his minute expression. Witness the smallest changes in his brow, his lip. Look upon the barest flicker in his eyes and know. He wants to be seen, and they see him. That’s all he could really ask, and so he whisks them and himself away to a room with no windows and doors, because if no one else can see these changes in expression upon his visage then he would keep away with his two that can. Your love is ashes. You cannot give what you don’t have. What you try to reach out for, what you try to touch, it will burn. You cannot love, you are a destroyer. You will break and crush what you think you can have. How selfish of you. Stay away from all the rest, they don’t deserve your cruelty. Be a good person for once. You can try, but even then it’s not enough.
I can’t have the light within me, but I will protect those who can. |
His heart beats like a battering drum, threatening to burst the prison of bone. His sense of justice is stronger than any other emotion or sense of being he has within himself. The very existence of something dark must be eradicated. His gavel is absolute, his hammer will always hit true. He will scare away the darkness with his own, he will shield those who can’t shield themselves. He will use his body and his mind to guard the innocent against harm, to keep their light bright. In a darkened theater he is the ghost-light on stage, in the surrounding dead of night he is the moon in the sky, he is the star that guides lost sailors at sea. There is no greater purpose in life than to uphold justice. There are beasts in this world that cannot be tamed with words, and by any and all Gods he will bring them down with his thunder and righteous fury instead—even if that means darkening his own light along the way. It’s the least you can do. At the very least you can make up for your mistakes, not that you could. Use what little worth you have left. Just try to do what he thought you could, just try. It is for naught, but be a better person. You can try, but even then it’s not enough.
And with my last breath, the world is a better place. |
He is only worth the sacrifice he makes. He puts himself between the bullet and victim when he can, he turns his back to face the lashes of others. He pushes himself until his feet start bleeding until his throat is scratched and parched until his legs can no longer carry him until his arms can no longer hold until his belly is scraped raw from crawling, and then he will push himself even farther. His life is not worth much if he cannot save others, so to give a minute bit of value to the pathetic life he leads, he will do what he can to add lives to his roster of lives saved. In the end, it’s a little selfish. A hope that maybe there will be one time that the bullet strikes true, one time that the whip slashes too deep, one time that he actually can’t push himself any further. Coward. You are a coward. Hoping for a release that you don’t deserve. It’s just like you, to believe that a hundred, a thousand, a million lives could ever give you peace. You can’t erase the names of the past with new ones. Do they mean so little to you? They must have if you try so hard to fill that roster of yours. No amount of names can save you from the devil you invited within you. You can try, but even then it’s not enough.
Don’t forgive my sins, let them bring me down. |
He has turned against his purpose. His fate was twisted against his will, but that is his fault. It is his fault that he was blinded by his hubris, the belief that he was right in blindly following the lead of another. It is his fault he misplaced his trust in someone else. His fault that he tore not one, but multiple lives out of this world undeserving. He cherishes love and yet he took that away from someone else, tore a future away from the light he fought so hard to protect. Filthy. False. Liar. Imposter. Devil. A monster who convinced himself and the world that he was anything but, if only for a short while. He thought he was just a dark angel, but he was just a creature wearing the skin of a person. No redemption for you. No paradise for you. No repentance on this planet can save you from the fires of hell that you brought upon yourself. You are out of time, you ran out of time the moment life fell from that woman’s body. The clock is ticking down, the borrowed time is running out, and when The Great Grandfather Clock’s face strikes 12, at midnight, you should hope that you did all you could to try and right your wrong… you can try, but even then it’s not enough. It will never be enough.