My heart stops
& I have to check,
Just one more time.
I know it's not him,
But I'm terrified either way.
      I hate it,
When they look at me.
When 'he' looks at me,
Watching me...
      I know he does,
Because I'm on edge.
He threatens my family,
with nothing more than a stare.

& I want to run.

Then he asks her
the heaviest riddle
he carries
from the start,
of why
the lines written
above
her eyebrows
threatens
the calmness
of his heart.

My lungs are burning
And I start to sweat,
Not being able to breathe
Is my biggest threat.
My lungs fill with water,
And my breath gets shallow,
My chest is pounding,
But my heart is hollow.
My pulse is slowing,
And my stress is on the rise,
The pressure inside me is increasing,
As tears gather in my eyes.
My throat starts to shrink,
And my airway begins to close,
I begin to fall unconcious,
And blood drips from my nose.

On that day all I wanted to do was to protect them.
I wanted to crush those who threatened them.
But I didn't.
The fear that I couldn't control my demon was too much.
The true threat wasn't the people who threatened them.
The true threat was the demon inside, which I can't control.
This demon has a name but no physical form.
It's name is anger.

I was in a ****** bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I’d done.
Darting furiously…
Through city streets,
Running, running,
For something I’d done.
My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I’d done.
Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I’d done.

Will my misery entertain?
Will he salivate at the prospects and their resulting effects?
Joy, he wouldn't contain.

"Oh girl, the things I could do." He did almost coo.
"I want you to remember this encounter long after I'm through."

"With fire, you chose to play. Such a childish fool, one only gets burnt that way."

Why does my creativity choose to bloom?
Why does it grow as I contemplate delving into the darkness, pitching my tent in the blackness, amongst all of the doom and gloom?
Will my soul be efficiently sort out and collected for The Man In Red to consume?

You just scattered the pieces.
How can you break what's already broken?
The comforting clench of the hand around the knife.
Those eyes.
The chill.

But those eyes, they make me believe.
In love.
In you.
I believe.
Yet I cry.

The stick of the point indenting my skin reflects the light of the situation.
Your eyes.
"I would never hurt you."

I hate you.
My eyes.
Filled with the tears from my non exsistant heart.
The heart that is yours.
The heart that is yours.

"I would never hurt you"
"You're the one thing I care about"
My eyes glisten as they stare into yours.
"I hate you"