We say angels come from heaven, but the angels we need are never always there. Pray for mercy and forgiveness, and yet never truly bribe your way into heaven. In the end, God is the ultimate judge, but we con ourselves into believing he's not always fair. We convince ourselves we can get into the gateways of heaven, and our last breath rattles as we see the barbed wires of hell.

That's what we persuade ourselves into believing. Pretending we've shed light on the truth, but simply dwell in the river of denial when we've been proven wrong. We refuse to believe it. We indulgence ourselves with our own conceited worlds. Our blindness is just a piece of their imagination.

Strands of sandy blond hair played with the wind. Lavender eyes gazed into space, absorbed into their own worlds. Malik Ishtar was living proof of what waves of denial can do to you. For years and years he's been swallowed up in the sound of his own thoughts. Pretending he was right, everyone else was wrong. The winner was righteous, the loser was wicked, and for years and years he's been winning. Until on a fateful day, when he lost. At that moment, it seemed to everyone he's finally shed true light on the truth, he didn't. Though, he himself had been convinced at the time as well.

As he denied that voice in his head. The voice he pretended was gone was never truly gone. It had been forced into the deepest part of his mind, ignored. But like memories, some times the voice resurfaces and breaks through the warm haven of his imagination. A haunting, whispering voice calls to him. Asking why he brought it back to its land of loneliness. Wondering why he gave up all of his hopes and dreams. Demanding answers, refusing to be pushed back down.

Malik ran his gloved hand across the banister of the bridge he was walking on, wiping off flurries of snow. His dark glove reaching a deep contrast with the shining crystals of ice. There were people skating on the lake below him. Laughing. Giggling. Screams of delight. So carefree, ignorant to the rest of the world.

Maybe it's not just their imagination. Maybe we're all just so blind.

-- I can feel you pull me down. --

Some times we're not drowning in the river of denial. Some times it's not the waves of denial pulling us in. Some times it's hopelessness. When we've wandered in the dark for just too long, we try to look for any sign of light. We think it's just too far away, or maybe we're just blind. Then after wandering for what seems like eternity, we give it all up and accept anything that comes in our way. Too much trust can do you in.

Being fed by lies from the tablecloth, and enjoying every bite of it. Never crossed our minds there might be poison inside. When there's a warning, we laugh it off with a merry twinkle in our eyes. Naïve.

Soft jade colored eyes stared at a picture frame of a young girl. The girl looked about eight or nine years old and had moonlight silver hair and gray eyes. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. This picture was taken on her dying day. The clothes were the ones she was buried in. It was her last wish not to be buried like if she was a porcelain doll. Her name was Amane.

Next to that frame was a picture of a beautiful breath-taking woman. She had long curly ebony hair and eyes that were blue as the sea. Her eyes were merry and cheerful as her laughing portrait. Yet her smile held an irreplaceable sadness. Holding her tightly, a man with brown locks and hazel eyes, laughed along with her. Eyes twinkling and kind. Now, he's only a mirror reflection of the person he once was.

Jade eyes brimmed with tears. They eased close and opened again, this time, they were crimson. The inner demon hastily wiped away the tear stains and softly walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Fumbling through the items near the sink, he grabbed what he was looking for.

Slowly he drew the razor from his palm, past his wrists, and to his elbow. Blood dripped into the sink but did not stain, for it was already stained too much for it to be damaged anymore. Another cut and the once white carpet reluctantly absorbed the drops.

He placed the razor back and retreated. Leaving Ryou to collapse on the floor, who had a faint smile on his lips.

Because it's better than all the emotional pain, we bleed just to know that we're still alive.

--Still can't find what keeps me here. --

Isn't it curious how during the earliest years of our lives, people tell us to go and reach for our dreams, because we can do anything when we put our minds to it. And then, the same people start to tell us what to do, because we're too smothered in our lives and we can't figure out what's going on. Controlling us. Raping our minds. The same people we used love and adore, we begin to hate and loathe.

So now we begin to be what they've wanted us to be. We begin to feel like how they want us to feel. And we can't escape the pressure. Wide-eyed and silently screaming, we become trapped, sweating blood. Can anything get us out of here?

Hands trembling, he ripped the card he loved so much in half. It meant nothing, it will never mean anything. A rush for the door and a slam later. That's it. He was done. Sick and tired of the way he keeps controlling him. Nothing ever meant anything to him. So why start now?

Eyes peeked out from blonde bangs, looking high into the sky. Wanting to watch every single drop of snowflake fallen. But he couldn't. It all spun too fast to catch the gaze. Maliciously avoiding hold.

Yugi let out a breath that steamed the air for a moment. We all love control, but some others are obsessed with it. Control freaks. Willing anything to not let go of the firm hold they love so much. He broke into a jog. The faster the better, he thought hopelessly.

But this wasn't the first time.

And yet, for some, control was their life now. Yami didn't mean for it to happen, never meant for it to happen. But somehow, it happened. As if two minds weren't enough to deal with, there was now a kind of a third mind. The control freak.

Yugi shot a glance back. Sure enough, a dark shape was looming on him behind the flurries of snow. He dodged into an alleyway. He looked up again through the crack of the two buildings and sighed. He knew it was hopeless, but trying won't hurt... can it?

Whoever said 'what you don't know can't hurt you' obviously had no clue what they were saying. And sometimes, the things you thought you knew the best, would come back and kick your sorry behind.

--Your heart pounding in my head. --

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.-.-.-.-.-. A/n: So, how was it? Flames accepted. No this is NOT a one shot. (horray for that) Yes, this was inspired by the song Haunted by Evanescence.