Long Division

What goes around never comes back again. Nope, this is a one-way ride straight to Hell.

She doesn't hate him, no, she doesn't think she could if she tried. Instead, instead she hates herself. As the blade crashes toward her pale white skin it is dulled, dulled by the music, by the words. But still it reaches her and the tears and the blood fall because everyone, everyone knows that a dull blade hurts much, much more than a sharp one.

"Get me out of this hell-hole!" he pleads, but his cries are drowned out by the climatic farewells of his past. As his voice echoes, echoes away into nothingness, she thinks to herself, she thinks that he's only trapped because he had too much fun digging his way down that he, he didn't stop to think about the aftermath, he didn't stop to think about her.

And now we have two dead and one alive and the numbers, the numbers just don't add up.

And when he plunges his metaphorical dagger into her hypothetical heart, no one, absolutely no one, is left laughing.

Screw the proverbs, screw the cliches, she's got a problem and she doesn't have the time to deal with it. She'd be better off dead, for all the good she'll get out of it.

"Where the fuck is everybody?" he asks, screaming silently to the world until someone, anyone comes along to provide support, companionship. But once she arrives he disappears with an excuse like all the others. He couldn't handle that someone could put complete trust in him, that she had faith that he could be all that she needed and more, he just couldn't handle it and now she's crying again. She's more lost than ever before, and the numbers aren't helping, not at all. She was at peace, content, happy to be alive, and now what? Those days are gone, the weeks have passed, and she's still caring, she's still counting, counting the shooting stars that never fell. There's nothing more, nothing less, and she still can't bring herself to believe that the numbers truly are meaningless.