He could no longer take the pain, nothing could stop the hurt.
A cycle day after day filling him with regret and hopelessness.
That was when he had a thought.
That maybe,
no one would care.
If he died...
What would cure the pain of a broken heart? What could pick up and heal the pieces? That ache that rested inside ever since it happened, it festered and grew like an open sore. His mental state was laughable and saddening at the same time. And it was all from one simple thing, a few words, the turning of a body. The disappearance of his fragmented thing he called a soul. Weightlessness and stupors were far too common now a days, and the room spun every time he sat up. He was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces that were scattered across the floor. They were all but unrecognizable to people anymore.
Loving you is suicide
and it's getting harder everyday.
I'm tryin' to keep myself alive
knowing there's a chance it's all too late.
The sharp pain of glass in the foot, it was nothing so terrible compared to his heart, the beating organ that held a hole deep within. Picking out the shards embedded in his skin, the silent and shaded Musician sighed gruffly, hanging his head. Holding the pieces of chipped Amber shards in his palm, he clamped his hands around them, ignoring the sting of the glass cutting his hand. He drifted to the bed, lying down to hold up his closed fist. Slowly and silently as ever, blood tricked from his hand, down his outstretched arm and onto the dark shirt he wore, some in his hair, smearing on his face.
He was so…
The searing heat of the water bearing down upon his innate nakedness, the trickling soreness from the stream was absolutely null compared to the pain crying all the time brought him. Pushing his head and face against the sharp needle like spray, his closed his eyes, feeling and knowing that it scarred his eyelids making them red in contrast to the usual pale skin he wore. Stepping out of the shower and onto the lush tile floor, he looked toward the fogged mirror. Dull eyes searched for the razor he kept to even out his sideburns and other places. He liked to shave fresh from the pounding waters. He stood there, staring, as he toweled off his body. Fingers reached out to smear the thin layer of collected droplets across the glass' surface. Blue eyes looked at a face, so gaunt and thin, the upper body wasn't any better. Ribs showed and every little mark upon the skin stood out like an eyesore.
Feels like I drown in your every word
and every breath that's in between.
Somehow you got me where it really hurts
it's killing every part of me.
The shiver of delight Yamato felt, brought on by an alcoholic constitution, slipping around the apartment laughing like a madman. It was all but a way of escape from his sorrows, the one thing that took him where he could feel no pain, where he truly didn't care. Bottles littering the floor and every available space of counter and sink, Stubs of cigarettes and empty cartons lay piled in the corner stuffed lazily inside trash bags also overflowing with garbage he kept neglecting to take out. Everything was happening in the safe confines of his solitude, and he felt totally in control. though he was never fully in control of himself or his emotions.
His body was a wreck.
Everything is restless in my heart
I hate the way this feels
suddenly I'm scared to be apart.
Once he had gone though as much as he could, he profusely began to heave up all he had consumed, Food and Beer alike. It went in the toilet, and some more across the tile, slipping on the white surface, staining it dirty colors. Head spinning, he sobbed, broken and openly, coughing endless amounts of blood and particles into the water that was now sludge and nasty. Breath unsteady, he stood, slipping in his own shit and fell to the hard and unforgiving floor. He came down hard upon his head, bashing his forehead into the counter and slamming knees into the base of the toilet. Moments and minutes passed as he laid there groaning and cursing the shit out of his luck, and worming his way, again to the shower.
Everything crumbled….
Once more, the steady beat like a drum was against his back, the heat enough to make him grit his teeth. Anything to get the disgust off, both inside and out. It was utterly humiliating landing in one's own vomit and then hurting one's self on top of it. Going through the motion of washing was hard enough when his body ached like the burning of a thousand Suns, but he stood stiffly, and went through the motions, again, getting out and toweling off, avoiding the stink and heading out.
But I heard you say you love me.
That's the part I can't forget
and I wish that you come save me
cause' I'm standing over the edge.
Nothing was working, and he felt so damn tired. His head buzzed from the earlier fall, and his body throbbed from being sore and sensitive from the showers. Falling back onto his bed his body curled as if in pain, his muscles were still tense and he couldn't straighten all the way, just sitting up was a task on itself. He was still naked, turning over with a groan, spotting some boxers at the foot of the bed. He wanted them, he wasn't the kind of guy to go full nude in his own place for long. It was stupid. Pulling them on after reaching, he wound up miraculously sitting and winced from the pain at his back.
Staring at the floor, his breathing slowly fell into a steady rhythm, and his arms felt limp and unusable. Coughing, he hacked up bits of solidified Alcohol and Blood into his hand shaking. What was he ending up as? It was a startling and slow transformation.
The days are dark when you're not around
the air is getting hard to breathe.
I wish that you would just put me down
I wish that I could go to sleep.
Part of him wanted to go. To leave it all behind and not give a care about it all. To have everything pass by….for an eternal rest from worries.
He thought about taking his life.
Running his hands over his body, thin hands stopped at his neck, fingers wrapping around it, almost happy with the way all of his hand fit, finger to finger. If he had the gut, he could likely choke himself. But — He couldn't do that. Something….he had to put something on his neck. Breathing was something often taken for granted, and he wanted to deprive himself.
What was he doing…
the air is getting hard to breathe.
I wish that I could go to sleep.
Sitting up in bed, he spotted BlackGabumon's Dog leash. Could he use that…Place it around his neck, and toss it up to his light. Or maybe in the closet, he'd have to kneel for that, and made it very short. Standing, he walked over to it, and stared. Should he? What would it get him, what would it accomplish? He didn't know.
Maybe he'd escape from all the shit.
All the boredom, all the pain.
It could help.
It wasn't the start to anything new, more like the end to all the pain. Heading to the closet, he found that it was a semi-high ceiling. He could stand inside. It was decided, though quite the depressing decision.
Hooking the collar around his neck, he also snapped the leash on, and moved it over the closet bar, proceeding to tie it at an appropriate length. Yamato then stooped, testing the feel of the collar digging into his neck, stealing his air. It seemed doable, so he closed the closet door just a crack of light shone through.
And Ishida Yamato then and there, tried to commit suicide.
Where was his loyal Digimon? BlackGabumon was chained to the railing outside the apartment, because Yamato had left him there the night before. How was he to know what the Human would do…it was all wrong.