your heart is on fire } standalone

your heart is on fire } standalone Mar 4, 2014 4:01:39 GMT -5

Post by анзие (Anz) on Mar 4, 2014 4:01:39 GMT -5

s t r i p p e d a w a y

Pain. Pain rules your life like a goddamn overlord, the constant hurt-hurt-hurt of the stub of your tongue pounding, beating away already bruised muscle, like someone's set fire to you from the inside and there's no way to put it out and it's pain. It's pain when there are so many things unsaid, things that hurt that tighten that strangle and choke and you have to choke it down, and they ask you to smile like it's the best thing you've ever tasted.

It's got a bitter aftertaste.

And it's no good crying because what does crying do? What does crying do for anyone, rivulets of water slipping down your cheeks like betrayal and a sickening realization that neither you nor your brother were strong enough to handle this rush of emotion that keeps words you can't speak locked in your throat. And when you swallow, when you part your lips to breathe they remind you exactly why you wanted to give up in the first place.

They tell you you're almost useless, useless with the scar they gave you (on your eye, on your heart, your soul; does it matter where?), but they think you're pretty enough to step up and take your place with their other children. Deem you docile enough to remain inconspicuous, quiet, exactly as you're meant to be. And it doesn't matter if there's a fire in your good eye or a burning in your gut because it just means they'll get to play again in the future.

And you're tired of their games.

But you can't stop, can't stop moving between them, master and trainer, can't stop getting yourself choked down by your furious overlords and they're all angry with you for things you haven't done (things you want to do but haven't had the guts to) and you're always sent back. Sent back and forth like a goddamn messenger of war and it's something you've started for yourself with your master plan consisting of knives and an arrogant expression you can't stifle no matter what you do.

You most certainly can't stop them from hurting you, because they're the closest link to your brother and you want him back. You just want him back.

If you fight too much you lose him.

It's a thin line they draw between just enough to get yourself in trouble and too much because the last time you've seen your brother (broken, beaten, dressed like a doll with a plastic smile) he could barely take a step on his own (what have they done to him, what have they done to him in that god forsaken place-).

You want nothing more than to kill them. Kill them all, you're mad and angry and insane all at once and it doesn't matter if two of those words mean the same thing because it's true.

But your words are strangled for you by the stub of your tongue and you move your lips like you're a demented child (they sewed them together to make you stop). You have nowhere to go, no one to run to, and your only tie left in the world is trapped in a red room where hungry patrons prey.

And you stay and you breathe and you think to yourself that maybe, you're better off dead.