Thoughts of a Loner.

His Pain. (By Sapphirus)

She came to his being when the night's silence was deafening,
When the air was clouded with the mist of unspoken,
A presence neither invited nor refused,
Her arrival not heralded by sound,
But by enchantment,
But by slow and suffocating stillness,
She crept within his bones and claimed his being,
She was not born of figment,
Nor a child of dream,
She was as real as shadows,
Lurking and present,
Draped within the corners of his mind.

She came to his being when the night's silence was deafening,
Her name remained "Pain"
Not whispered but carved in silence,
Each letter becoming a blade slicing the air cold,
A moniker too honest for beauty,
As she glided the realm,
As the ground bent itself upon her will,
Her dark gown of sin,
Blacker than a raven's wing,
Stitched with threads of agony finer than wine,
Shimmering as stars in the lost void of humanity.

She came to his being when the night's silence was deafening,
She touched him first with her gaze,
As he looked back with a gaze that stripped her raw,
The weight of his fingers pressing against her frail neck,
As the final nail driven into a coffin,
Her nails of obsidian craving desire upon his back,
Dragging down his skin with deliberate lines,
Each stroke his art upon her,
Each stroke her signature upon his skin,

"You call for release," she murmured,

"Yet you hold me tighter than any lover."

She came to his being when night's silence was deafening,
As he worked upon her,
She loved with precision not care,
Her hands cold as winter's breath,
Traced his scars,
Old and new,
Her fingers reading him like braille,

"You are a book of wounds, my Love~"

"And one is the author."

She smiled and reached inside him,
His being dark,
A hollowed canvas filled with her passionate darkness,
Not with ink or paint,
With the very marrow of his despair.

She came to his being when night's silence was deafening,
She shuddered under his animalistic touch,
A symphony of pain and surrender was it?
And still he could not pull away,
Afterall how could he?
She had been with him all along,
Woven into the fabric of his pathetic existence,
She was the weight in his heart,
The ache in his silence,
The specter behind each smile.

She came to his being when night's silence was deafening,

"You despise me~"
As her lips brushed against his neck,

"But it is I, who has kept you alive~"

"For every scream you swallowed~"

"For every tear you denied~"

"I have been your witness and truth~"

Her grip around him tightened as she demanded his release,
Her presence suffocating,

"And now you are mine."

She came to his being when night's silence was deafening,
As she dragged him to the mirror,
Forcing him to face the thing she painted with delight,
What stared back was no man,
But a monstrosity,
A canvas of scare stitched with the beautiful regret,
Eyes hollow and smile silent,

"Behold~"

She whispered,

"My greatest masterpiece~"

"The man who cannot live without me~"

As he stared into the reflection,
He saw not her but himself,
For she had not painted him,
He had painted her,
Stroke by stroke,
Wound by wound,
Until she became the only thing he ever knew.

She stepped back into the shadows,
Her laughter like a dirge,
Leaving him with question unanswered,

Had she created him,
Or had he created her?

~Sapphirus