A boy stood, alone in the crowd of bustling people, eager to forget the wounded soul. Blood soaked and forgotten, his head of matted black locks hung to cover the ruins of his face.
Once pale skin, littered with bruises and cuts and scars; years and days old, ignored because of the countenance he chose to show the world, a reflection of his batted life.
Pain isn't real, it's but a signal to your brain. With enough practice you can ignore it, he was after all living proof of that. Or at least that's what he liked to tell him self, but the dull ache in his ribs told of a different story. One where quotes and beliefs of mind over matter held no blood and tear soaked faces smothered sheets as the desperation to escape climaxes.
Memories of broken mirrors and blood stained bathroom tiles consumed his memory as the sea swallows the island whole. Reflections of a daemons cold dead eyes boring lifelessly into the glowing orbs he called his own.
One can only be harmed for so long until they become numb, but one can only be numb for so long until they begin to feel.
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Weathering The Storm
Fanfiction'He's very possessive, he doesn't like sharing his affection. I'm not saying he's spoiled or anything, its just as if he needs a constant reminder that he's doing good. He's almost like a child in that way. I don't know why he needs it, but he doesn...
