.shutup.

I'll laugh to keep the noise out. I'll cry to keep my mind off of the things I know scare the crap out of me. With each sob and each giggle, I know my mind will be too occupied to think of you and your stupid songs.

Your stupid songs.

That sing of your life. Your life that I know is just as hard as mine. Maybe worse. Probably worse. But do you have to be so harsh? Do you have to hurt me too much that I am reduced to trying to keep you out by crying and laughing at the same time?

Don't you know how much it hurts?

Don't you know how I feel each song stab me in the stomach and spill my guts out?!

But you don't, don't you? After all, you've only been occupied with yourself lately. With your pretty little toy that is my world and with your pretty little doll that is me. And is that all I am? Wonderful, little mister. You have made my day.

Do you know how many angels have passed me by and asked me if I was alright? Do you know how many demons even tried to haul me away from my spot? But I hold on. Because you need me more than I need you and I know that without me, things will go awry and you will lose your mind.

Little boy, I am your anchor.

Do you know?

Little boy, do you know that I worry until my face turns ashen when I do not hear you cross the floor at night? When I know you're out there, playing with the sharps and the dulls of the lulls of the cruel world we both exist in? But you wouldn't know... It is hidden.

Just like your smile. Hidden in the secret cove of ours.

In our secrets...

In our memories.

In our past.

But what of the future, little boy? What of the hope there used to be, creating a chance that we could run out the door and be ourselves once again? Little children, we are, little boy, and we know that without our future, we will shrivel up and die like the raisins you hate so much.

But I love raisins...

They taste well with the omelets you used to make me when we used to live by our hearts and our minds were closed to the dirtiness that existed beyond that door that the Grown Ups never let us go through.

But I had to protect you.

So I had forgone your rainbow omelets.

You got mad. You got mad at me. And I was crying! You were mad! I didn't want you to be mad at me! I wanted to make you happy! I wanted us to be happy! But you ran! And I had to follow! Because without me, without us together, the world we have so carefully built up will crumble into dust and into our memoirs.

And you left me.

You had gone through the door.

I had to follow.

I found you. You weren't mad.

You weren't looking at me at all.

You grew up...

You left me and grew up...

And now, you're not so little anymore, little boy.

And you play with me because I am still little.

Was it my fault?

Because I did not eat an omelet?

NO! No! NO! No! NO!

It wasn't my fault!

Shuttup!

Stop laughing!

Stop.

you? me?

Would you have let go if I asked for my freedom? Would you have agreed to finally make something out of nothing? To let go of a soul that only yearns to find a physical attachment to the world of today? Nothing would make me wonder more, with my eyes burning brightly and my ears deaf to other noises, than to ask if one such as yourself would let one such as myself go?

Tell me.

Is it not good enough? Am I too old or too young? Too childish? Too stupid?

Stupid.

That is what you call me. At times my heart bleeds when those words spill from your mouth, piercing every fiber of my being, every tendril, every heartstring until all I can do is cower in the ground, clutching my heart with my frail hands, hoping to God that something or someone would save me from my darkest fears.

Your words echo into the night, into the darkness of my mind, into me. They do nothing but bounce back and forth and I have to wonder whether your hold on me is so much that I cannot do anything about it and that my body only follows the words that you utter.

Disgusting.

And again, my heart bleeds until it cannot bleed anymore. All of its life has been sucked out, leaving me pale with fright and insecurity, cringing at every footstep nearing my corner of little security.

Fearing for myself, I know there is nothing I can do but follow. Trying my best to remain invisible as to not be seen or heard so that the pain might lessen. That you'd stop picking on me and let me grow.

I want to grow!

I want to learn!

I want to love!

But with you, chances are I never would. But nevertheless, the dreaming would continue until it is the only thing in the world that gives my bleeding heart enough energy to pump through another night of torture and pain. And in the morning you come again, ready to sap whatever light is left in my darkening eyes.

Haven't you had enough?

Isn't this enough?

Or do you still want to see me suffer, to see me shiver with uneasiness, knowing that I cannot do anything about it?

Of course you do.

You sadistic little bastard.

You want me to fear. To take no steps at all. To stay put so that nothing will ever come out of those dreams that keep me alive and breathing. You touch my face, a smile on yours, but your eyes belie that smile.

Selfish.

..sTrings.

Can you hear it calling? Can you feel the burning? The flames dancing before your eyes, the acid melting away the emotions that only cause pain. Is there nothing left for you? Is there nothing left in the emptiness that does nothing but surround and encompass everything that you are?

What is it? The calls, the laughter, the smiles, the tears? Where do they come from? Where does the pain start from? Scourging away everything. All sanity. All hope. All faith. Until only you are left. You and you alone.

Nothing but you and your thoughts.

Morbid thoughts that scare you and scream for you to lose control and start being what you have always wanted to be, or something you have always dreamed of. Of something that has always been so much more than a mile a way. A chance.

A chance!

All you ask for is a chance to live, to breathe. A chance to finally be what you were destined to be. With all of your soul you try to fight, fight until the last breath has been drawn. But, after all, you cannot do anything about it. Like a puppet with double knotted strings, you dance and prance the way they want you to.

Obeying every selfish whim of others, following every order, singing every song, dancing every dance without rest. Until your eyes becomes as dull as a brown and muddy marble, and your heart dead.

But you still think.

And hope.

And wait.

You wait for the day until someone comes along with a pair of the sharpest scissors ever known to man, with a mind who accepts you for who you are, with a soul who will understand that you are as empty as the puppet you are portraying, with words that will comfort and soothe, to rest your weary and dead soul, with a heart that is willing enough to heal the brokeness of your limbs and your entire being, the strings will be cut and you will be free.

Freedom.

And then that someone will carry you up, put you under their wings until you find yourself, your real self, again. And you find that you are not alone anymore and that your thoughts are not morbid anymore but filled with the longing to live again.

Hoping…

Hoping…

Hoping that somehow, this new life will be different.