In the beginning...
That's how it always starts,
isn't it?

The dogs of war,
Barking inside,
burning in the oven of your own
poor, poor heart.

But they call not for gunfire,
or the shrapnel of a thousand bombs,
nay just the bleeding pain,
of your lovers'
soul torn 'part.

And of course, in the beginning,
as you clutch your head,
wishin' for a new start,
there is no comfort given,
nor grace delivered,
upon the atheists so marked,
and He watches with a devil's glee,
all compassionate, destructively.

We walk therefore,
to the beach, and walk furthermore,
into the ocean, where there is no breeze,
and we walk farther still blinded by what you cannot see,
until the water lies over you, drowning,
Babylon's little *****.
But you walk further still, because the water does not nurture,
and you walk further still because the water will not ****,
And you walk into the abyss,
'Til the dogs no longer roar...
When even they cannot reach you,
and you get what you searched for,
peace.

But peace is a lie.
A lie we call loneliness,
brought up in the passivity,
of man now long broken.
For not all journeys are good.
Not all stories have heroes.
Not all poems rhyme.
And sometimes...
Everybody dies,
In the beginning.

"Tug, tug, tug" said the weights on my heart,
oh snug snug snug, with a smile and a hug,
did the chains gleefully entreaty,
On some days you'll feel the pain and self-hate,
But most of the time you will be empty,
Smug smug smug,
Me or these bands I breed?

Oh I wonder, I wonder, I wonder,
I think about it now and then, my sweet,
How it feels to love many,
Love so openly,
Looking in the hollow shells and finding the sick treat,
Nothing is fonder, fonder, fonder, on me
Than rejecting my own destiny.

I can go less and less as the years get colder, colder, colder,
The hot sun shines a little less,
And the snow makes me more than a little numb,
A white void, a sign post saying, darkness approaching,
I smile a little happy, depression now encompassing,
Au revoir, and the c'est la vie,
For je t'aime, and everything else,
Lies, lies, lies, and you can stick it up your hiney.

The truth is I am already dead,
Waiting for the sky to fall,
And we never know when we will stop breathing,
But we beg for it bleeding,
The breaking point, the line,
The end of all suffering,
The do or die, die, die,
All that and more my future does not lie,
No instead, my wretched soul,
Is already long gone,
Leaving now only a loud heart,
And the incessant sounds going,
"Tug, tug, tug."

******* ***** I'm dreaming,
of you and another man reaming,
well you are a succubus and a demon,
And I'll tell you right now, its my emotions that you are feeding,
on and on I go tears streaming,
waking up cold sweat beating,
the brows of my forehead and my teeth bleating,
Clashing, gnashing, outside is scary but within it is bleeding,
knife wounds to the gut, butterflies screaming,
I can't even sleep now, covered in my own *****,
Hating you, blaming you, dreading the upcoming meeting,
Can't escape it, can't fight it, it is your body I'm needing,
Your soul that still makes me feel like givin',
Up and dyin' here in this bed of my own decievin',
Girl, I'll tell you its our fault I'm leavin,
Dead and unheeded,
Depressed and beaten,
down by the secrets of me you were keeping,
But now it is over and still on my sub-conscious you are eating,
So every time I wake up, half-dead and decreasing,
I still find you, And I find myself singin',
But you deserve no more songs no more revelin,
Not from me, no, you'll find happiness everlastin',
And I know this I can see it, I am dreaming,
And his **** is bigger and its aching,
The torture, the ****, the forlorn breeding,
Modern society or mental instability,
I dont know babe, Im ******* crazy,
Lazy but forcefully preceding,
When I tell you I'm flawed and dominating,
You laugh at me, hardly even breathing,
and I cant help but still be believin'
My love, my idolization, it is sickening,
and as the subject, my former accomplice, partner in crime, your sins to are quickening,
You made one mistake and that was never falling,
Ever out of yourself and now your life you'll be living,
Yet that mistake was not yours, nor any others my darlin',
I was simply not the man, a scared abused child buyin',
More hopes and lies to fight the pain of hatin',
Yourself every day wakin',
Up thinkin', without her I'm wasting,
Too much fear, too much pressure, babe you cant even be feelin',
You just gotta sit there and get *******, no performance, no mind rushing,
a thousand miles and still good for nothing,
Failure again, forevermore, the one person you can live without now ignorin',
You, 'Sexually incompatible', and all the gravy,
Still I kept coming of the dream, of the real one, of you and me feeling,
A love greater than love, obsession and needing,
Just one more look, one more hug, one more day of existing,
But now, buttercup, its just me up alone at night, fighting
The memories of you, and, for what its worth,
I'm losing.

My lovely Sophia,
She gets naked for me.
When I'm lonely she calls,
And talks to me.
When I make a joke, she laughs,
sometimes with, sometimes at me.
As long as I can hear her laugh though,
I am quite happy.
Her ***** are perfect,
So round and bouncy,
And when she pinches her pink *******,
I get quite antsy.
I want her, I lust her,
I desire to defile her greatly,
Her mouth puckers up,
And her eyes beckon me hungrily,
Its better with her fingers though,
The way they spread her *****,
I can see everything, my **** little ****,
Putting it on display,
Then ******* it clean,
Though, of course,
Only for me.

“That’s what love does to you, right?” she asked. “It makes you happy, and content, and numb.”

She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the clean, ruler-straight scars; the damage coming only from a dissembled, silver razor blade. She moved her fingers slowly up her forearm, feeling the slight rise in flesh, like a train moving over railroad ties, as the skin healed over, creating the scar.

“What do your parents say?” I asked her.

“They don’t know.” she said in a soft voice.

“And if they did?”

“I’d probably be sitting where I am now, talking to you.” she said. “and living in some sort of mental institute for crazy people, along with others who have these same so-called ‘addictions.’”

I made a note on my clipboard. The brown, wooded board serving as a curtain, shielding the notes I was making about the girl sitting across from me. The girl with auburn hair, wearing jeans, a pair of converse shoes, and a gray sweatshirt. From the outside, no one would even suspect her as one to mutilate the skin on her wrist with a sharp tool.

“Do any of your friends know?” I questioned.

“No.” she answered in that same soft voice.

I made another note.

“What would everyone think if they were to find out?” I asked her.

“They’d probably be confused. They wouldn’t like it. Then they‘d probably hold one of those interventions, then ship me to the institute for the crazies.” she explained.

“So then why do it?”

There was a long silence. Neither of us said anything. I waited for her answer, as she put together the words in her head before saying them out loud.

“I like it.” she whispered. “I like the way my skin swells up and leaves the smallest rise of a scar.” she paused again, collecting some more thoughts. “It takes away all the other pain I’m feeling, it makes me numb. That’s what love is supposed to do.”

“It’s not healthy.” I told her.

“Is the kind of love between two people healthy? When it’ll all eventually come to an end?”

For the first time since entering the small cubicle after coming into the therapy center, she’d shown emotion. The soft whisper she’d been using the whole time disappeared, rising to a higher volume as she argued my point of self harm and how it isn’t safe. I sensed a hint of anger as she looked me dead in the eye looking for an answer to the question she’d fired at me. She leaned back into the small comfortable chair across from me. She took a Kleenex out of the box and wiped her fresh tears that had began falling down her cheeks.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not depressed.” she paused. “I don’t want to **** myself and I don’t want to die.” She took another Kleenex from the box. “But I know this kind of love won’t ever come to an end.”

“Until you cut too deep.”

The floor was cold under my bare feet as I crept down the stairs, listening to the noises that the house was making. The kind of noises it made when it thought everyone was asleep – the hum of the refrigerator, occasional clunks, the creaks as the walls warmed up and cooled down. By all rights, I should have been asleep.
Outside, the night was the impenetrable black that you only ever see in the dead of night, in the middle of winter. My face looked ghostly and pale in the glass of the window as I turned the tap, water sluggishly filling my glass. It was a peculiar feeling – like being disconnected from everything around you. Freefalling.

“Bit late, even for you.” I jumped, when I shouldn’t have. I don’t think you ever slept. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“Ah.” Your shadow moved towards me across the room, and I watched your reflection in the frosty window.  “It’s cold.”

“I know.” This was how we worked, this shorthand. For a guy who never shut up, and a girl who never said anything, I suppose it wasn’t unusual.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m not the one who’s half-naked.”

You chuckled, and I turned to look at you. Sweatpants hugging your hips and nothing else.

“Are you allergic to shirts?” I felt compelled to ask.

“I sleep naked. This is dressed up.” You smirked.

My cheeks flushed, and I was so grateful that the dark hid it. Suddenly, I was conscious of my pyjamas. Which was ridiculous – there was nothing wrong with sleepy sheepy.

You were watching me, that slow smile messing with my head.

“What?” I snapped irritably, uncomfortable with the weight of your gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, shaking your head. “You just look nice” you reached out, caught a wave of my hair, “with your hair down.”

I tugged away, making an impatient noise, and you dropped your hand to my arm. I looked up at you, wild eyed, and you stared back. I didn’t pull away.

For the first time in your life, your eyes weren’t dancing around, constantly distracted. They were still. We were still. We were trapped in that second.

“Are you cold?” I asked, and a part of me congratulated myself. That sounded almost normal, nice one.

You smiled slowly, your pupils huge and diluted. I wanted to tell them to stop, they were swallowing the green and it wasn’t fair.

“Not anymore.”

You reached your spare arm up and cupped the side of my neck, I watched your eyes, and they watched your hand. You tangled your long, pianist’s fingers in my hair, and looked up, into my eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

Before, when we were dancing and I was so scared that the music was my drug, that I’d come around and know it had been a mistake, I had said no.

But there is nothing hypnotic about standing in a dark kitchen, skin crawling with the memory of shivers and when the soundtrack is the humming of the fridge.

“Yes.”

Your head dipped slowly towards mine, and I counted every second.

One.

I was falling.

Two.

Your breath touched my face, my eyes were closed.

Three.

Maybe you were falling too.

Four.

Your lips brushed mine, a whisper of a kiss, and then deepened. And suddenly we weren’t two, beautiful, broken teenagers with no way out and who were so, so tired. Suddenly, we were a girl in sheep pyjamas and a boy with smiling eyes. Suddenly, we were inconsequential to the grand scheme of things. Suddenly, we were all that mattered.

And when you pulled away, and my eyes opened reluctantly, I saw that you weren’t going to disappear. There was no pounding bass to hide behind and my hair was brushing my the bottom of my shoulder blades.

“Okay?” You said, and I watched the way your eyes sparked, my mind was humming.

“Okay.” I said, and I knew that, for the first time in a while, there would be no nightmares tonight.