He held me close in his chest, softly patting the back of my head as his cotton tee got soaked with sodium tears. Cooing, he kissed my forehead and assured me that everything would be alright. That we were going to make it and that he would never let history repeat itself. I sobbed, and I sobbed, and he sobbed, but he was stronger this time round. Stronger than me, stronger than before, stronger for the both of us. And I wasn't. Fragile, like glass, I bled from the steel that graze my skin, hoping to find solace in the sliver of "feeling" that kept me alive.
My nails dug deeper into my skin and I breathed between the sheets, heavily blowing thick smoke in hopes that some sort of hallucination would curb the desire to stop living. I groaned in pain, in some sort of pleasure, and I watched as beads slowly form against my perforated skin. Only this time, the angels that softly sung lullabies have gone to bed and God has put a veil over his head and I am alone. As always, as always. I am alone when I am asleep, I am alone when I am awake. I am alone even when I am loved, and I am alone even when I'm not. I am alone, and alone is a lot I will be for now. Let's get used to it.
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