Fire

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I see fire burning in his eyes, not the fire you think, fire burning in the hell I gave him. Consuming him from the inside out, burning his spirit to ashes, until there isn't anything left. He says "Everything's okay" to try and bandaid the gaping holes I left in his heart. His life supply is low, not because he's weak, but because I broke him. Allowing every last drop of blood to fall from his eyes, not like tears but, like rivers of pain that he's drowning in. I try to be a lifeboat, but I've quickly become a weight, pulling him under the bloody river of pain. It sweeps him away, down a waterfall of heartbreak, crashing onto a rock of forgotten potential. At this point, his energy is depleted at the expense of his life. A faint breath of hope keeps him moving; he can't walk, he is crawling like an infant who hasn't quite learned the ways of the world, the ground is uneven, and hot, as he crawls through hell gasping for air, I scream, for there isn't anything I can do.
I cease the scream I let out to see him limping on flat ground, seemingly alright, to anybody who doesn't know better. I see him force a fake laugh, hide his feelings for the protection of my own. Distracting his mind from the fire that only gotten excruciatingly hotter. Blisters form on his soul and on his heart, making it painful to touch the things that are laid upon his heart.
I watch the hell burn in his eyes as he struggles to completely daily requirements, such as breathing and enjoying the life I tried to take away. Once upon a time, a joyful noise echoed wherever he went, now he just listens to the calming vocals of music to silence the screaming lyrics I instilled in his mind. The screams of his mind echo in to mine. He doesn't always know it, but as I watch him from afar my heart breaks for the heart I broke and can never mend.
He numbs the incessant burns with the ice of the cold words I've spoken. His eyes are frozen over, lost and gazing out into a vast faultless reality that he longs for, a place where I can no longer mutilate his soul.
A place of peace and serenity, a place where the worry of being ground back to dust no longer exists. As he lies on the ground, his heart flattened to the floor by the weight of a hatred that has possessed me, his eyes scream, begging for a way out, when none is given, the only option proposed is to cross the great divide.
I see the death desire in his eyes and I scream as the demons of my past escape my soul and I'm filled with one mission, and one mission only: "Save him." It becomes increasingly difficult to stitch a wound when the only tool I have is the blade that I made myself to be. He insists it will be alright as I'm continually butchering the last of his life.
The truth is the farthest thing from his mind as he attempts distract himself by diverting my focus from the pain that possesses him.
The lies of his tongue are easily accepted by those that hate to think anything that contradicts the lies. The reason, simply that it's easier to accept a lie than face the truth. Unless the truth is evident, and in this case, it is. The lies become easy to believe within himself because it states a rebellion again the excruciating pain in his mind. Lying has become easy, not only in word but in act as well, a simple smile distracts from the scream, and a laugh will have it all forgotten.
Or so it seems...
Until you look under the sleeve, where the excruciating pain in his mind has made its way to the surface of his skin by the blade of my ways that I laid in his hand as a possession and a prompt to let the pain flourish from the inside out.
The pain on his arm pains me as a replication of the pain he must be feeling on the inside, tenfold what I could ever imagine or start to imagine. My eyes meet his and he screams, though he doesn't know it. As he suffers through hell, I scream, for there isn't anything I can do.

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