House full of roses
A letter on the stairs
A tape full of messages
For anyone who cares
Collage of broken words
And stories full of tears
Remembering your life
'Cause we wish you were here
He makes the best damn coffee in town, you know. Even better than the stuff Tweek makes, despite the fact that he spends half his time drinking the substance. But he hasn't made coffee for months. Some douchebag told him it tastes like dirt.
He's an amazing artist too- pencil sketches, mostly. He used to draw all the time; had quite the fanbase on DeviantArt. But his profile has been inactive for months, because his boyfriend ripped up all his artwork and set fire to it in the kitchen sink because he was pissed.
He gives the best relationship advice. Only now he doesn't feel like he has the right to try and fix other people's problems when he can barely keep himself together.
His name is Kyle. He has red hair, fiery as the setting sun, that lies in gentle curls. Eyes as green as malachite, that used to be framed by glasses before they were broken by a punch to the face.
Nothing is harder
Than to wake up all alone
Realize it's not okay
It's the end of all you know
Time keeps passing by
But it seems I'm frozen still
Scars are left behind
But some too deep to feel
Things started to change four years ago- it wasn't always like this. His boyfriend used to treat him with the utmost care and respect, and loved him dearly.
Everyone thinks it was the drugs that changed him, altered his mental state. One minute he would be fine, the next yelling and screaming, telling Kyle how worthless he was and how he should have abandoned him years ago.
The violence started out as the odd slap, given when they fought- and they fought a lot. But the angrier he got, the more Kyle's boyfriend would hurt him, and it would always end in bruises, a bleeding lip, broken ribs.
All of his friends rallied around him, and he'd leave for a while, but go back within a few days. Our Kyle always went back, no matter what was said to him.
No one could stop him, and eventually everyone stopped trying.
Some days you'll find me
In the place I like to go
Ask questions to myself
'Bout the things I'll never know
What's left to find
'Cause I need a little more
I need a little time
Can we even up the score?
He used to make the best damn coffee in town, create art that Van Gogh would envy, and gave the best advice. But he doesn't any more.
His name is Kyle, and he's a shadow of his formal self.
And it's all my fault. I did this.
And some say this can't be real
And I've lost my power to feel tonight
We're all just victims of a crime
When all's gone and can't be regained
We can't seem to shelter the pain inside
We're all just victims of a crime