It hurts so much to see the way he loved you and to know that it didn't matter to you. That his feelings didn't matter to you, even though his every waking thought was in someway related to you.

Call it an obsession if you want, but does that make it okay?

What is Love with out obsession?

Was it because he was male? Just because he's a 'fag,' makes it justifiable to throw him away like that?

You hide now, Playing dead. You couldn't understand what pain is.

I feel it in my chest, through him to me.  

Wake up and face him.
Tell him the truth.

He loved you, Sapph. Don't you get that?

When he told you so...were you giddy because you knew you won your sick little game?

He's my papa, he's alway cared for me, always gave me warnings that saved me from agony. He was my guardian angel of sorts. No matter how 'Dark' he might of been.

You didn't show up yesterday.

You know what he, My second Father wanted for his birthday?
He wanted to know if you ever were serious. How could a straight male be serious about another?
He wanted...he didn't want it..he would have liked..no. He just wanted to hear you say goodbye to him.

It hurts so much.

How could you?


You don't care about the damage you're causing him, you're hurting all of us, but your too busy to  hear him. Too fucking jaded, locked away in your frozen keep.

You didn't want to hear us bitch, well, you're not. You're not here to listen so I don't have to worry about that.

His city-scape is no longer the bustling dawn of New York City.

The usual peach-colored morning haze above is black, a black and starless unending night.

There are no more faceless people to watch from atop his city. No one to look down upon, no cars, no music of the metropolis is to be heard.

Only the light behind him, The fake moon on his city. A really bright spotlight that points at him from behind. casting shadows so his face is all black shadowed completely.
He is mirrored in the skyscraper's windows across the steel-and-glass crevasse. His outline only barely there, but unusually clear. His reflection comes back but all can be really  seen is the sickly glow from his eyes, faint like a child's night-light. He rests his head upon his arms, on the ledge of his buildings. His legs are just strewn about, bending at strange angles that only the most flexible of dancers, as he was, could manage.

He searches the non existing crowd for any sort of a glimmer of blue. The brightest color in his mind. He looks in the reflection for you, hoping to feel the weight of your hand upon his shoulder, to see in his reflection, you. He even looks in the corner of his eyes in hope to catch a glance of the white of your coat, the black of your nails create stars in his night.

His hair is limp, Not the spiked mass of fox-fur-feeling hair that I was never allowed to touch. It completely black now, not even its' original color. His eyes are not the neon green of a bars sign as it should be, they're a sick pale green, the color of infection. His clothing is torn in places, not meticulously kept as he normally would prattle about for hours if ever a thread was out of place.

His face is streaked with blood and dirt from the turmoil he cannot contain.

He cries but is not aware. He laughs while he's screaming. He smiles even though his soul is running down his cheeks. He doesn't show any emotion, just actions. He does not frown, does not hiss, does not smile when he sees me. He shows no emotion, but he cannot contain his own sadness.

I know, when my heart was broken I was torn to shreds. I screamed and I fought it, I longed and I wanted, I hurt and I hurt. I was being torn apart.

That's not so for him. It's not like hes being torn apart.

Its like someone took his soul and placed it upon an alter. Took his heart and with swift action, smashed it with one powerful blow of a sledgehammer. A bloody splatter was all that was left, nothing to recognize.

But you know blood is still blood.

And even though that shell of a person gives me a blank, lifeless stare, so alien to me, I still know thats him. I still can tell who that is. And its the most horrifying sight i have ever seen.

That man has given me five hugs in our entire existence together, but in the last few days he has given me dozens. Given me three kisses upon the brow when I was terror stricken or heart-sick, but never anymore until recently. I only grasped the silk of his hair once, when I was an ignorant young child and in return, received a sound cuff to  the head. That taught me to never again repeat the action, but now he rests his head, laden with so many painful thoughts, in my lap and allows me to stroke the black mane, even asks for it. He comes to me for comfort. I've held my fathers head in my lap and felt his pain.

The ache you get when you're apart from your lover is nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of betrayal.

Yet he is not angry. He bears no ill will or violent thoughts of you. Just loneliness.

You never even gave him closure. You never told him the truth, never told him that you no longer wanted him. You just hid yourself away.
He has a faint hope of a hope, that maybe he can try again, but he knows that that is stupid of him to believe.

Hes seeking solace, comfort. He comes to me and falls asleep, resting his forehead on the hollow of my throat. His hair tickles my nose and chin, but i do not laugh, I cry.

He has always been the one to keep me sane, to hold my pieces together. He's been the one to take care of me, ensuring my survival and my ability to thrive as best he could. Hes held me when i was so terrified i could not differentiate friends from the nightmarish phantoms of my overworked mind. He was the one to place his hand upon my head and rest my head on his chest, giving me his heartbeat to listen, to focus on above all else.

He was my one true truth.

No matter what, No matter how far-fetched, his words were always true, his advice infallible, his presence there, always.

He was my reality. The Mother who loved me, the father that taught me, the sister i talked with utmost confidence in, the brother that protected me.

Valen Darks Is my family.

And my family is falling apart, simpering for comfort and begging for his end. Begging to know what went through your head, what you really think of him.

For his birthday, I wanted to give him the solace he still so desperately seeks.

Yet...you couldn't even show to wish him an unhappy birthday and give him his goodbye.


You're the coldest of all living things. You deserve the name you've been given.

Bastard.