The pain burns through him the way his skin burned when he was beaten as a child. Burns so not that his nerves writhe beneath his skin like electric worms burrowing through his flesh… so bad that he has to bite his own arms to keep from screaming
It’s all about control.
He knows that.
If you can control yourself they can’t hurt you.. You have to command yourself because adaptability is everything. It is what one needs to be, but the feeling of being seems to be nothing more than the tears he’s never allowed anyone to see. The wetness creeps beneath the drowsy lids leaving a trial of acid memories…. As his yes flutter close, welcoming the scenic views of darkness, escaping from a place where kindness and cruelty are one and the same, and love and loathing are indistinguishable because the people who love him the most, hate him the most. At the same time thinking, there’s no place like home.
JB February 2013