Broken

The stupid little boy just lay there in bed. He was not a little by but that is how he felt. He felt stupid. He lay there trying to control how he was feeling but in the end, he knew that he could not. He tried to fight back the feeling of anguish. That is the right word for it. The little fuck did not know what to do so he just lay there in bed, naked, in the fetal position trying to hold back all the tears that were welling up behind his eyes. Jesus, he was cold. He had two blankets, three throw covers, two comforters, and a down cover but he was still cold. Dumb little shit. He did not even realize that the coldness that he felt was coming form inside.

Why did he feel this bad?

I will tell you why. 'Cuz he cares, that is why. Be cause the dumb little fuck-head actually is in love with someone. How could he do that to himself? He should know by now that it is stupid to care about anyone. No one cares about him and if they do why are they not allowed to show it? If he does show it, he is castigated. Cast aside.

Fucking dumb ass, you are just showing motions again.

He did not do anything. He just wanted to hold her. That is all. Why must he be made to feel so bad? The insignificant little twerp does not realize that no one really cares.

Therefore, he lies in bed holding back the tears until they bust forth from his eyes. At the same time that the tears burst forth so do the sounds that come from his mouth. He weeps.

Laugh at him.

He is crying.

Boohoo his little broken heart.

When he feels this bad he feels like everything is his fault. Really . . . He cannot really help it. He wanted to take the blame for everything that was wrong in the world.

Everything is his fault.

Global warming. That was his fault.

Clubbing of baby seals. He did that.

Pillaging of third world countries. He was there.

Why does he feel this bad. Well he only knows a little bit. He knows that it was because of love. But no one really cares. Pathetic is it not? He just wanted to hold her tight. Just so he would not think that he was going to loose her. That is the scariest thing ever. To think that he may loose the most important person in his world.

The one person that makes his world spin.

To him she was the sun and while she was around he was filled with light. He was happy when she was around. Not because he was happy on the inside. It was because the happiness that she radiated shone off of him like the moon. The only thing that keeps him next to her is this gravity type of love that grabs him and makes him want to be next to her at all times.

She is the painter on the canvas of his world. It is that simple. That is why he wanted to hold her.

He fears that that if he does not hold her she will vanish. Vanish just like a crappy little picture left out in the sun for too long.

Maybe it is one of those pictures you get. Those cheese ones that are not meant to last. Maybe that is all he has. Crappy or not that is all he as to remember her by.

Yes he has his feelings. That is a good memory but right now all his feelings are of sadness. He does not want sadness or happiness even. He needs her. Something tactile. Something real.

If they can forge the Mona Lisa they can forge emotion. That is why he cannot trust anything or anyone. The forging of emotions. A cheap copy of a copy. The Xerox of love. The light of the machine blinking back and forth. Mesmerizing and blinding him so he will always o back to the ones he loves.

IT'S NOT HIS FAULT! It's not his fault he is the wrong age. It's not his fault he was born at the wrong time. He's not sure when he would like to have been born but he knows that when he was born it was wrong. He could have been born six sooner or sic years later. It would not make any difference now. It was too late. He was already crying.

He hunches over because he just feels like he was shot in the belly. He has to put his hand there to make sure that his guts do not spill out, all over his Egyptian cotton sheets. Yeah you can envy someone with nice bed sheets but not someone that happens to have nice sheets but who cries like a little idiot.

The pain in his head is growing. The questions that are formulating in his mind are so terrible. The images that are flashing through his brain are frightening. He sees himself dead. He looks down and while he stands in a tiled room, the bathroom. He is holding out his wrists with razor cuts on them.

NO!!!

He tries to imagine different things but he cannot. He cannot help but see his body in that room again with a shard of the mirror in his stomach.

Quick, he is holding his stomach tighter. The gunshot wound is getting bigger.

That is when he does the unthinkable. He starts hitting his own head. One may think that this is about the stupidest thing one can do. Maybe he is a stupid little boy. Maybe he is not a little boy. Maybe he is even a grown man that is trying to call out for help. No matter what the case is, it makes him feel better. He, now, does not have to think about all the pain that is inside of him. With every impact of his fist the pain dies down for just a fraction of a second. Therefore, he just keeps hitting himself to feel that split second with out the emotional pain. He needs to feel that split second over and over again.

The tears come forth and begin to stain his pillow. Twenty dollars a pillowcase and now they have his salty tears on them. At two hundred dollars for a set of sheets, it still cannot fill his life now that he truly believes that she is no longer around. Dumb, stupid, little, big spender.

He cries out and cannot think of anything to say so he just yells out into the night. Yet, he cannot yell to loud because he does not want to wake up the whole, goddamn house. Dick head does not want to bother someone else with his problems.

He is hitting himself harder and harder. The bullet wound is getting larger and larger. He is twisting and turning in his bed. He is just hoping for anything that will take his pain away. He had something that would take the pain away. He had someone. However, now she is gone. He could almost imagine all the blood from his belly. He could almost feel all the crimson as it went all over the pillows. He really is twisting now. The pain starts to crawl all over his fucking body.

The tears start to fall from his eyes all over his cheeks. The tears fall down his face. All the snot starts to drip down his nose. The little fuck is to fucking sad to give a fuck about the way he fucking looks.

How is that society? Is this what you wanted from him? Did you want to see him as this crying pile of snot? Look at his face. Covered in dried crusty tears and caked up crap on his nose. He can barely breath now. Is it because his nose is all covered up with crap or because he is crying too hard to remember to breath in?

He keeps hitting himself. At first, it is with his hand but it moved on to being a book that is next to his bed. He is not really thinking straight anymore. For the little bit of relive that he feels, he has to keep hitting himself harder. The corner of the book is the most painful. That is when he feels the real blood for the first time. It slowly pours from the top of his head down his face.

Dumb, little, big spending, fuck. Now he has tears, snot and blood rolling down his face and he cannot do anything about it. Stupid little crap hole has to suffer.

Then the most wonderful thing happened. He knocked himself unconscious. Now, he is totally blacked out but at least the pain in his body has stopped.