It's beautiful. The needles, the strings. How he's all bound together and wound up into delicate delicacies. The flesh twisted and pressed into flower petals.
He takes the needle and presses it through his skin, parting flesh easily and painlessly. For people like him do not feel these minor, tiny things.
And the boy's eyes are so vividly blue, staring out at him, like some sort of terrible blame.
It makes him sick and excited and furious all at once, and the tightness of the fabric reminds him of everything wrong that he has done. Wet spot slowly forming at the seam. Rubbing, always rubbing.
It's too much.
The thread forms a link between the two of them, mirrored by the thin film forming between his fingers of salty viscous liquid.
Cross stitch, back stitch, put the needle into the eyes, conniving, lying, blaming eyes, make it stop make it stop it's not my fault why wont you listen to me.
And the belt buckle's around his ankles, and the tongue's cut out to lessen the screaming, and it's so beautiful.
The blood is a goblet, the flesh is a wafer, but the boy is nothing and will never save him. The needle ties a knot.
Tongue and fingers and eyes and teeth and bite down on the cord. Rip out the flesh and swallow every last drop.
Like a snake, swallowed whole. Trembling with fear, trembling with excitement, two sides of a mirror.
It's too much.
The boy's tears are so inviting, the ruined eyes pleading to make it stop. For people like him feel everything and nothing at all and in the morning his eyes will still be vivid blue and he will see everything with perfection.
Plunge into a dark place where only he dares go. Pain, crying, weeping, moaning. Rope around wrists, ankles, passed through eyes and burned into soft tissue.
She is beautiful and breaking and beside herself and watching everything and she loves him. Claws at the door, buys rings in boxes. Crying in a church under a veil.
He would do anything to make her happy except the only thing that will make her happy.
Even the monster under the bad has a monster under his bed.
Empty the mind, pour it all out.
Focus on the boy.
He is beautiful and broken and beside himself.
Tomorrow, they will start again.