He's falling, he knows, into something dark, and something terrible, and something he knows he needs to try and get out of but he can't and he can't and he doesn't try because no one cares and it isn't worth it and it isn't worth it and he can't help it, he can't help the sadness and the anguish and the depression and it's all okay, it's okay, and it's okay because he's okay, he's okay, and it's all okay though it isn't.
His friends don't seem to notice when he puts makeup on to hide the dark, ugly purple bags under his eyes and when he fidgets with his hands or when he wears long sleeves that hide his wrists, or that his ribs stick out and that he's tired most of the time but it's not like he cares that they don't notice because he doesn't want them to notice so that he can keep up the mask, the facade, the perfect illusion he's built for himself.
He doesn't know why others can't see it, the pain behind his smiles, the despair in his eyes, the fear, and the crying for help as he spirals down into this and help him help him please-
And then he's back to normal, all smiles and laughs and happiness 'cause it's okay, and it's okay, and it's okay and it has to be okay or he'll fall apart. He'll be okay, and they'll be okay, and he'll be okay, because it's all fine and they don't notice when he drags the silver shiny metal across his arms, creating beautiful red art, making lines that ooze red and drip red and he's okay because this isn't bad, it's an outlet for everything.
More than once he's considered it, on a railing, on a building, in a ship, in the water. With the shiny silver he loves so much, and with the ropes that lie in his drawers from the time that he used to tie them around his neck and imagine simple darkness after squeezing-
But he's okay now because nothing's wrong and it doesn't matter that he squeezes his neck every night and it doesn't matter that he has red scars, pleasurably painful scars from the shiny silver he takes with him everywhere and uses more often than not and it doesn't matter because it's all okay and he's okay and everything's okay.
And it's okay that more and more of his skin is getting scarred and scarred as he plays with his shiny silver paint brush, making more and more red paint that stains his skin and scars his skin and taints his skin with something more evil than the dark innocence he uses to paint with his shiny silver brush but it's all okay and it's okay and it's okay because he's okay.
And as the time goes by and he can feel the gap in between himself and all his friends widening and he feels as if he can see the distance stretching out in front of him with the silhouettes walking away from him, farther and farther away and he runs and runs and runs and he runs but he can't catch up, he can't, he can't, he can't and he can't and he feels so tired and so broken but then he reminds himself that it's all okay, he's okay, it's okay, everything's okay and always will be okay.
It's his birthday and he waits in a cafe for his friends, waits and waits and waits and he waits but they never come. He isn't surprised, they've forgotten the last couple birthdays. But as this one goes by and the clock strikes midnight for the next day his heart breaks and he's numb as he walks out of the cafe, cake in hand, and as the tears fall, rolling down his cheeks and hitting the asphalt like drops of rain he smiles, he smiles and he laughs because he's okay and it's okay that they forgot because they're still friends, right, and maybe they'll remember next time and then he's laughing again and he's laughing and laughing and laughing and he doesn't know when his laughter has turned into sobs. But it's okay. It's okay because he needs it to be okay, he needs to cling onto the last threads of sanity he has and he needs to be okay and he needs to think that he's okay or he'll die-
And as more and more time goes by and he's not sleeping anymore and his eyes grow cloudier and he retreats into himself more, and they don't notice any of it, not as his smiles get faker and the makeup gets piled on heavier and the sleeves get longer but it's okay because they don't have to notice, and he's okay because it really doesn't hurt him that they don't notice and it's fine, he's okay, he just needs some confirmation that they're really still there.
He has it in his drawer, the thing he has thought about using, the ghastly, beautiful thing that could make him happy, that could make his suffering end and make everyone around him happy.
And then it happens, one of them gets hurt and they're fussed over and taken care of and given food and water and love until they get better and their ankle heals and they can walk again. And then he gets hurt, and no one helps him but it's okay because he can take care of himself and it's okay because the agony in his chest and the hurt in his heart and the tears are all not real and it's okay because they'll walk in through the door any moment and he'll be loved and he'll be fine and it'll all be okay because they'll be here and they'll be here-
They never come.
Once he's all healed and he's finally lost all of his reasoning and his sanity, he takes the beautiful, dangerous paintbrush and sits at the base of the tree where they all used to gather together and he dials their numbers and rasps out that they shouldn't come to the tree because he's okay and he's okay and he's fine and nothing's wrong and he's okay but it's not okay and he's so sad and lonely and he feels like he shouldn't exist but he's okay and he hangs up to their panicked voices saying that he should hang on, they'll be there soon but what's the point? He's just fine and he doesn't need them and he's okay and it'll all be okay soon and he takes the channel of their voices and throws it, and the tears flow freely as it shatters, just like his heart. And then he takes the beautiful, dangerous instrument and looks at it-
And he can hear them screaming, their frantic voices begging him to stop, they can talk about this, there's no need to do something so rash and he laughs, a maniacal sound coming from his tearstained face and his cracked voice and he raises the instrument to his head and he stares as they run to him.
He doesn't understand why they're crying, why they're scared, because it's all okay, it's all okay, it's all okay and it's all okay and it'll be okay in a moment.
He feels the cool metal against his temple, and he sobs again and he sobs and he laughs at the same time as he stares at the way their legs are flying and their eyes are widening and tears are falling and he doesn't understand because isn't everything okay? And wait, it'll all be okay in a moment, just wait…
And they're screaming for him to stop and he smiles as tears flow and he thinks it's all okay because it is all okay and everything's okay and they're still running, still screaming for him to stop and he cries and laughs and smiles and tilts his head, questioning why they're so sad when everything's okay? And he watches them run, get closer and closer as his fingers move because it's all okay and then there's a click and his eyes meet with their distraught frantic ones and-
BANG