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 Cleaning Wounds
Posted: Jul 24 2005, 06:20 AM

just another daydream...

Group: Admin
Posts: 8,388,607
Member No.: 20
Joined: 28-June 05

((Continued from: Starting Place for B29))

Run, desire, run…

Though he knew he should be worrying about, running that is, if that mean boy – Jacob… yes, Jacob was to come after him...

What a horrible way to introduce yourself properly to someone, now he knew Jacob from his History class. Though he knew him on the grounds as his classmate, no more than the person who sat from seats away.

Run him like a blade,
To and through the heart,
No conscience,
One motive…

His pale lips where moving to form the words of the song that was currently running through his mind but his voice wasn’t quite as cheery as before. The lyrics of the song pushing into actions within Blaine’s mind, oh, how good it would have felt to truly run a blade through him… allowing that red, red blood to run out of him, sorta like the water in the river he currently found himself standing before.

Sadly though the fact Jacob had a gun wasn’t helping him get his desire, neither was the fact his weapon was after all, piano wire. Now, choking probably wouldn’t be too bad either… a lot cleaner though. Only true disappointment in that sense was that it was clean, though with enough power behind it the wire could probably cut into the flesh.

Cater to the hollow.

Dropping onto his knees on the banks of the river close enough to be able to reach the water, he leaned over peering into the water and looking himself in what was reflected back. Blood matted a good part of the left half of his face, some even dipping onto the collar of his shirt.

Pouting his lips lightly, he reached his hands into the water cupping a handful and rubbing it against his face. After a few more moments, he was finally able to look over the gash in his forehead clearly, gotten when he’d fell down the hill.

Screaming feed me here,
Fill me up again,
Temporarily pacify this hungering.

Lightly he lifted his hand and lightly touched the blood-pouting wound, flinching at the pain there. Moving back, he fell from off his knees and onto his backside against the rocks on the riverbank he finding himself curling his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms about them pitifully and resting his head against them.

Trying to ignore the pain in both his calf where the bullet had grazed him, and in his forehead, he just simply curled into himself rocking lightly as he continued to sing.

So grow,
Libido, throw,
Dominoes of indiscretions… down,
Falling all around,
In cycles,
In circles.

Constantly consuming,
Conquer and devour…

Why didn’t anyone want to be his friend?

He just wanted to feel whole again...

((Continued in: Shelter from the Rain))
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