"Bleed for Me" by satin frost

How bad is it really? She looked at her hands. Filth and grime had somehow buried itself under her nails when she was too busy playing superhero. But now where was she?

Empty aching hollow mourning it was all so meaningless to her. There was nothing worth living for.

I am human I am not God I can break just as easily as anybody.

Shane cut his wrist. He cut hers. He pressed them together. Blood dripped down their arms, intertwining in a crimson maroon vermillion I'll die for you river bleeding down their veins.

"We are the same," he told her.

"There is pain," she trembled. "You act as if you are a superhero to escape it. But you can't. You cannot play make-believe forever."

"We are the same we are in pain," he replied.

He held her at night. She let him let her break. He taught her how to bleed and she did it well. Cuts and bruises aligned themselves along the grooves of her tiny, muscular body.

He told her he did not play make-believe to escape the pain. He played make-believe because it made him feel worth something. Bleeding stopped the pain, though.

They bled together.

It was art.

It was poetry.

It was pretty.

It was more like a hobby than anything, but it helped them survive. It got them through. It numbed them. Their own personal sedatives.

Although her insides crumbled with nostalgia she could not stop bleeding. She could not stop burning. She had to get herself and Shane through. She was his crutch to lean on.

He was her temple.

He promised if she bled with him, he would lay fruit at her feet. He would worship her in a mound of gold.

"Give me your flesh give me your sin give me your soul," he kissed her bare toenails. He bought her bubble bath. He let her cry on him.

They bound eachother together.

Close closer closest. Closerest.

That was them.

Her vacant eyes traced her scars.

"It's not worth it," she said finally. "I cannot live by dying.

"You preach your belief in life and love and the sun and sinning but I cannot bleed for you anymore. I'm too weak to bleed. There is nothing to live for but I cannot die for you."

For the first time he cried in front of her.

Then he took the razor in the bathroom with him and blood seeped into the hotel washaway carpet. Soon it would fade with bleachwater.

Please forgive him God he was fragile and broken and I could not mend him back together.

She wore her cross. She wore her cape. She wore her scars but she no longer bled.

Because it was not worth it.

Because she could not live by dying.

Because he died by dying and never got the chance to live.

Because life was a cross-face game of Diablo, and he bought the wrong kind of bubble bath and ruined her pedicure.

Because she was human and not a God, and she could break as easily as anybody.

And she didn't want to.