Life is not bleak.

Life is not pain.

Life is what tosses you high up into the air,

into the sky,

so you feel nothing bad, see nothing bad, hear nothing bad when your head is in the heavens.

But what if it had a twist, one to make you doubt?

What if every time you went up, you'd be coming down not into strong, caring arms,

but into a net of nails,

nails as high as the pains you have seen before,

covered by the blood of those who claimed to love you and those who fell in the same place.

What if all you ever wanted was love,

love to hold you, a love you could have...

but from people with nothing in return?

What if, as I lie in my pool of blood, mixing in the blood of the others, releasing fumes, heavy and dark and green,

I looked up and saw the only being who could pull me out,

walking, waltzing, arms around another, with

a black background of gargoyles and spirits

floating by on the mist released from every fallen person's last breath and sorrows keep?

What if I could not follow

because of a nail buried so deep in my heart,

erecting high up from my back,

so that to stand would be to rip my heart out on it.

What if you turned around, holding him

and saw me jerk, shaking off all fear

and saw me peer, with questionable eyes

and saw me stand, losing all vital fluids from my shriveled body,

watching you go by, face covered in pain and darkness

as I pull my heart from its stake,

drained...

and dry