he liked the idea that he could break.
he liked the idea of being something nobody would recognize, had they been able to notice the changes. he liked thinking that he could walk around with a look on his face and feelings in his heart and for once they didn't have to match, his face didn't have to tell the truth if the truth was too dark to tell. he liked that his mouth could spin words into stories so realistic that they must have been true, that his eyes could hold secrets better than the most secure safe.
he liked that he could smile on a whim and dazzle the room while feeling nothing but a bleak emptiness inside. he liked the idea of being the bars of a prison cell, keeping something horrible in and everything worthwhile out. he liked his slow conversations with the gun he kept deep in his sock drawer, and how those meant more than anything he'd ever said to someone who could talk back.
he liked that the scars on the hidden parts of his skin knew more about his pain than he did, how they told him stories he'd never heard before through the intricate pattern that came from their crisscrossing truths, all from his hand and his brain and the sound of his dog scratching at his door. he liked the way his tears diluted whatever they fell upon, marring his face and his 2am peace and his homework.
he liked the idea of not being anything, of being a nothing in the most simple of ways, the ways that no one really talked about in fear of becoming it themselves. he liked the chill of the porcelain tub as he sat in lukewarm water and salty tears and burning pain all pressed into his chest as tightly as he held his legs there. he liked the silent flickering of the bathroom lights above the sink, outlining the mirror and the hideous orange pill bottles lining the bottom of the mirror like a light sent from God.
he liked the glaze that settled over his eyes when he sat there too long, thinking about what he was and what he is and what he could be if only he could breathe for just a second. he liked the burning desperation of his lungs as he held himself under the murky bathwater for as long as he could, the edges of his vision going blurry as he sat up to gasp for breath.
he liked the sound of his voice in his ears as he sat and mumbled to himself, knowing no one else would have any interest in listening. he liked the idea that he could break, that breaking seemed to be the light at the end of the darkest tunnel. he liked the idea of not being able to recognize himself, despite being the only one to notice the changes.
he liked knowing that he could walk around with a look on his face and a gaping black hole where his heart should have been and that he couldn't remember the last time he let them match, not even hinting at the truth that was too terrible to tell. he liked the fact that he broke. he liked that it was everything he imagined and more. he liked the feeling of the dry pills slipping down his throat, ending the reign they had on his mind as they settled too heavy in his stomach and pulled him down, further into the bath water than he had ever been, so far that the light faded into dark before the edges of his vision could even begin to blur, before his lungs could burn and just gave out completely.
he liked the feeling of feeling nothing at all. he used to like the idea of being broken, but he loved the feeling of being just that.
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