He's standing next to me now.
Just close enough for me to hear each pounding beat of his heart and feel the breeze of his breath.
With each inhale he takes it feels like he's ******* the life right out of me.
I become breathless.
I'm gasping just waiting for him to exhale so I can finally breathe again.
With each exhale I'm relieved of the pressure in my chest as if he's manually pumping my blood through my veins with his hands.
With each exhale I feel the warmth of his breath.
It is sticky and hot,
but he has a way of sending chills down my spine as he whispers icy cold words down my neck.

Blue and indigo lines.
Dark as ink.
Drowning in blood with pain.
With the pounding and drum of each heart beat, more pain is released into the system.
Flowing calmly but with intensity and pure passion.
The streams are in a tangled path. Leaving behind a strangled mess.
The throbbing continues with every breath.
Echoing against the very soul of your being.
The blues and purples reach the surface as each new tender bruise is revealed.

It's weird because I feel an icy chill in my veins and through out my body but I have this attraction to fire.
I love fire.
The flames are so mesmerizing.
I just cant get enough of it.
I ould stare at a fire for hours.
I think it's my body internally searching for the warmth and power that I lack.

Fire makes me feel.
It warms my soul.
With each dancing flame that resembles my demons, I can watch them flicker away and come back in a flash to haunt me,
but I will always know that they will keep me warm and give me light
even on my darkest days.
It is a beautifully destructive powerful force that I cannot wait to be burned and branded by.
I want it to consume me and leave me burned with passion.
Feel the intensity of its power.
Letting me know that I'm still alive.
As my flesh burns and my skin is scorched with each spark and flame.
Leaving me with pink and red tender wounds.

His chest rises and falls with every breath he takes.
He lays there motionless.
Paralyzed.
As if he is rooted to the ground.
With each breath the intensity and urgency to be freed becomes apparent. She notices.
She forces the grass to wrap around every inch of his body.
Pulling him closer to the center.
How does she know the ways to strangle someone without using her hands.
He struggles to break free but is left feeling a dense fog in his chest.
He is now gasping for air.
She becomes amused toward his defiance.
But she begins to worry.
She can still feel the warmth of his breath as it clashes with hers.
She sends the winds on him.
The wind's curiosity is aroused.
The harshness of the breeze and crispness of the air bites and ****** at his skin.
He turns pink with the intensity of each breath she releases.
The blue and the purple and the numbness of his being have never been so amplified.
Every inch crawls with frost.
His skin is no longer pink but a deep shade of red.
He is rigid.
Breathing in her breath he is left choking on death.
The winds know what's next.
The winds know everything.
They blow across the world without a birthplace, and no place to die.
They leave him trembling.
He comes still.
There is no more warmth clashing with the cold chill of her breath as she breathes slowly moving the mountains as he once did with his chest.

It's taking over my life.
It's taking control of me.
I give into its wishes.
I listen to its commands.
It declares my every move.
I'm a puppet and it's my master
holding the strings,
holding the reins to my life
It dominates me.
It restrains me.
It keeps me paralyzed.
But I can't ask for help.
Asking for help admits defeat.
I can never admit defeat.
Defeat means weakness.
Weakness means I'm powerless.
When I'm powerless,
I'm,
     hopeless.