Paint yourself a Red Cross
From the blood you s**ed from their throats
Drain out the hope
Hang yourself to shiver
The young boy sighed
As he stepped into the house he'd occupied
For most of his louder life
But all was silent in the basement of his mind
He checked over his shoulders not once but two times
Looking
For a familiar face
A honest word
A slither of the light
But found none
As he thought to himself this time is the time I'll have to face up
Paint yourself a Red Cross
From the blood you s**ed from their throats
Drain out the hope
The basement gave a hiss
The concrete cracked beneath his feet and bricks turned to smoulder
In a moment fever shot up through him everything else reduced to empty threats
Trying to hold his resolve
Trying to hold on
The blackest dark came to manifest out of the tiles, out of the drawers out of the trembling gla** panes
He thought of floating through the doorway fleeing to a country of tropical heat as the air started to swirl and his bones began to snap freeze under the flesh resisting the urge to scrape it away falling to the floor curled up, fetal hands stitched to his knees
The manifest began to speak:
“I know all your secrets. I know you can't be honest. I've seen you bruise and blister friends while preaching love and tolerance. I've seen you spend days under the covers self-hating to avoid your problems. I've got your release. Isn't this what you wanted? A way to escape? I promise you won't feel a thing. No one would really care if it came to it. Used your family as a crutch now you're hated for it. Still don't really have much to say for it? What about that time you took your hand to your mother? Beat and traumatised your brother? Hands cut up from the plaster, don't think I'm forgetting any time soon
This doesn't just stay between me and you and maybe you'll actually visit your grandmother soon like you never did when the time was spent on you like ‘Oh, no it's alright, I'm sure she'll pull through soon.'
You. You
You are the poison and deep down you'll blame it on a temporary father. Only saw him six times a year for close to a decade feeling the space he left long after leaving. Stress and sickness in your mother, struggling, trying to break that even saw his acid tongue in your own reflection causing the collapse of your feelings, breaking relationships like stale bread, searching for returned affection and meaning. So I hope you like your bed. You made it and you deserve it. You should never really leave because you're comfortable here with me
Rest. Rest forever now you've earned it
Sold your soul away
There's nothing really for you outside
I'll smother you in black sheets so you can never leave
No you'll never, ever leave alive."
Epilogue:
Not knowing the day, the month, the year
The boy in the basement told him to Rest Easy