he doesn't belong in the world.

that's what it is. something separates him from other people. everywhere he turns, there's just something blocking his escape to the light. planks nailed deep on the doorframe from the outside and his soul was too big to duck down to slip through the gap under. maybe because he's not a kid anymore. he's not the innocent boy who would be embraced by a mother anymore.

and there's no remedy for memory, it's like a melody. it won't leave his head. like judas whispering to his right ear, speaking of telltale of sins, murder, death, and killers. but he always knew that in the end that it was him, it's his voice, and no one's coming to save him. but the weigh on his left shoulder proves him wrong. your head resting there made him look, you know. but he don't vent, he don't yearn. he manage, he cope.

should he let go? should he let himself recline, and let your memory dance in the ballroom of his mind across the county line? is he too terrified to try his best? but it's not like he hadn't killed something so good for him just to be certain that he's the reason he can no longer have it already.

he is poison in the water and unhappy. rejecting his father but he cannot escape his mother's blood. he tried to be good, but he's no good. you're not good either. you're not good for him because you're good. and that's your only flaw. you are flawless.

but seeing you there, bloodied, made him finally admit. he is lonely. and you can't fix that. it's what he wanted to believe. what he believe he deserved. because his love led you to him. to this.

and now you're just like him.

"give me the knife."