A/N- Okay you guys sorry but I suffered from some major writers black this month, and it was way worse because I really wanted this to be a poetic chapter, and I think I have achieved it.

For those who don't know, a bowl looks like this: img3 (.) etsystatic (.) com /il_170x135.

Please check out my artwork! Heathersyvilla (.) tumblr (.) com /Portfolio

Smut (ish) in this chapter, again based off my own experiences and I hope people who have had sex while on drugs understand why I wrote it the way I did.

The poem in this chapter was written by the person Blaine is based off of in my own life, And lots of reference to Pink Floyd, or as I call them, the holy music.

I do not own glee, please review!

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking, racing around to come up behind you again. The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older, Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

-Pink Floyd, Time.

Blaine wrote me a poem once. I'm not quite sure why since the poem had nothing to do with me, and sometimes I wonder if he wasn't writing it for me. But I believe it was his way of showing me just another piece of himself.

Glass Silhouettes.

When I was young my father told me I would be sent to a school for people who like to tear open their own skin.

People like me. I see monsters crawling inside my eyes, they are there but I look right through them.

They leave silhouettes made of glass burning on my cheekbones,

And all of a sudden my fingertips are blacker than my knees.

So I would be sent for a special school for people, who tangle their fingers into their hair and pull,

Say "I am not crazy, I am not crazy!" and all of a sudden I'm not.

I'm standing at the top of a mountain singing "I'm so happy!"

I'm falling, curls falling from my fingers.

So I would be sent to a special school for people, who like to tear open their own skin,

And watch what was once blue turned suddenly too scarlet.

It is magic, it is god!

I can see the faerie dust through my glass silhouettes,

And I wish it would tell me that my head would stop running and running,

Like a billowing steam engine travelling on infinite tracks.

So I would be sent to a special school for people, who like to tear open their own skin,

But I can't tell if it's me who's pulling out my hair, clumps of curls falling from my fingers,

But my glass silhouettes do not want me to see,

I just want to see.

Blaine once asked me why I thought my body was worthless. He would hold my arm and stroke his thumb across the whitened stripes that painted my skin and he would touch me as if I were a wounded, dying blue bird. He would clasp my face in his hands and ask me why I thought my lips were made for anything other than to make me happy. He would talk about the moon, and how it shone above the world, one thing that connected every human being in existence, for we all look up and think, 'I am bigger than the moon, I have to be. It looks so small...' and Blaine would tell me I had a mind that was bigger than a thousand moons, than a thousand suns, and I would tell him that no one had ever talked to me like that, but I never answered his question. Why did I think my body was worthless?

Sometimes Blaine would kiss me. He would hold my cheeks in his hands and place minuscule kisses across my lips, as if every spec of skin there was worthy of its own kisses. We never thought of it as kissing, never thought of ourselves as a couple, I was just Kurt, whoever that was, and Blaine was just Blaine, and I knew exactly who that was. We were two people who knew each other so very well, but were at a loss to who we were looking at when we gazed into the mirror. We were two people who like to touch each other's skin, feel the warm press of fingers against our backs and turn red when our arms betrayed Goosebumps that tickled out bellies. We were just two people who could breathe in the same air until our vision became stars because it tasted so much sweeter than the safety on oxygen.

O.o.O

One second life seamed insane but stable, something I could turn my back on long enough to get a few good tokes off a few good joints and still manage to turn around and put on a pretty face. One second I was getting in the last few puffs of a cigarette as I watch my dad pull into the driveway from my bedroom window, then the next second I'm standing in a forest with a man's cock in my mouth, and wondering why the hell Blaine is on his knees beside me.

But that story is for later, and as one of my favorite movie characters, James St. James' once said, "I think it's so important to begin with a bang, don't you? Let 'em know something horrible is going to happen and then poof! We're suddenly elsewhere."

Being high made me live in every moment, savor the swirls dancing on my eyelids and watch as time unfurled itself before my very eyes, but it also turned time into a dagger placed right at my heart, pushing in slowly and surely with no other purpose than to provide me with as much pain as possible before it punctures my heart and leaves me alone and cold.

I had bought myself an hour glass, a clear glass 8 figure with blue sand, perched right next to my bedroom window. I liked to turn in upside down right before I took my first puff of weed or my first line of coke for the day. Part of me thought that if I could just watch time as it happened, maybe it would go slower. I thought maybe, just maybe, the watched pot never really would boil, and the watched cake never bake. But in the end the sand would lay motionless at the bottom bulb, no evidence of ever residing in the top one, and I would have no idea how time could make a fool of me once again for believing if I just tried one more time, I could make time stand still.

The look in Blaine's eyes as he stared at my codeine pills that afternoon so long, long ago had not died with the passing of days or the confession of his deepest, darkest secret. Subtlety was never a strong suit of mine, and it never crossed my mind that taking a dot of cocaine off my knuckle in Blaine's presence might be rude. I didn't miss the way he stared at the substance as if it were the finest fruit under the nose of his starving and dying body, yet to touch it would send him to an existence that only pretended to be magic. Drugs were Blaine's Pandora's Box, yet the knowledge that all evil in the world was the outcome was hidden and veiled so that it could only be known once the storm had died down and the fog had cleared, leaving nothing but blackness and only the memory of light. Rock bottom was one place I never wanted to see Blaine go, but I was too busy thinking of myself to think that anyone other than me could reach such a place.

It wasn't until 2 months after my sophomore year had started that Blaine and I were sitting on my bed as we always were, sharing stories and pretending not to blush when one or the other of us flirted subtly. Blaine made it quite clear how much he wanted to feel his conscious on another level, or at least quite the voices that said such strange things inside his head.

He told me with a quivering voice and shaking hands that he wanted to try one of the substances that I revolved my life around. He wanted to see what it was about changing your own consciousness that was so damn appealing that I was willing to throw everything in my life away for it. Perhaps he didn't use those exact words, but that is what I heard.

I was ecstatic that Blaine wanted to get high, but in all honestly I already felt like I had seen him flying higher than even I had gone during those days where he would mutter and thrash around on my bed, fighting off demons that only he could see. Sometimes as I sat by the bedside, waiting for Blaine to calm down so that I could wrap him in a blanket and help him drink a glass of water. I envied him. Maybe on some level I wished more than anything that I could have this disease, that I could be on a 24-7 acid trip.

That desire died away quickly as the days passed and I saw more and more of what Blaine had been hiding from me, and the fact that he was once able to hide it astounded me even more. I often felt that, even if Blaine and I were in a room by ourselves, there were multiple strangers surrounding us that I could not see. Sometimes Blaine would say things completely irrelevant, presumably to the unseen stranger, and once he even asked me who that woman was that had walked into my door a few minutes ago.

"There was a woman… Kurt please don't fool around with me! She had long braided hair… she was black, carrying magazines!"

Blaine was practically crying as I said "Blaine there was no woman… we've been home alone for hours…" over and over again.

It felt very strange not to be the crazy one, but then again everyone has their own crazy.

So we set up a plan. Blaine would come over after school on Wednesday because that was the day my father came home late; therefore we would have plenty of time. I would go to Ethan's the day before and pick up mildly PCP laced weed, and do whatever I needed to do to 'pay' for it. I didn't know if it was such a good idea to be giving a schizophrenic hallucinogens, but weed was as mild as I could get, and it would be boring if it wasn't laced, right?

So Tuesday left me with a pain in my ass that was hard to sit through as I anxiously waited for the Wednesday school day to pass. As it was every day, the clock was slow and the work too easy for my attention, so I buzzed through my assignments and tried not to think about what Blaine would look like while disheveled and out of his mind high. I couldn't wait to see Blaine in that altered state of consciousness where thoughts were potent and senses were hyper active.

By the time Blaine and I were in my room with a spun glass bowl packed tightly with the bright green substance, I was so excited that I had to take a few deep breathes.

Blaine looked like he was nearing a panic attack but trying to hide it, and I made him promise me that if the voices were troubling him more than usual that he would tell me so we could stop.

I don't remember what it felt like to hold the glass bowl to my lips and feel the burn down my lungs as the smoke was carried through my system. All I remember is the look on Blaine's face as he held the glass to his lips, and I carefully lowered the flame of the lighter into the dip on the bowl, igniting the bundle of leaved packed there. His eyebrows were knitted together, as if he were concentrating so very hard on doing this just right. Blaine's cheeks were pale and his hands were shaking, and I knew he was so scared.

It had been after about five minutes, 3 coughing fits, and about 5 hits that Blaine started to talk about how hard it was to move his limbs.

"My jaw… it's made of stone…" he said slowly, exaggerating the movements in his jaw as he spoke.

Blaine was so beautiful in that moment, his head tilted to the side as if curious of his surroundings, one hand lightly touching his jaw and the other clasping the glass bowl to his lips. His curls were loose and falling down into his face and his eyes were shining bright in a way I had never seen before. Usually Blaine's eyes were soberly bright with that naïve happiness and false hope he carried around him whenever he wasn't by himself, or they were blank, haunted, the voices in his head capturing his consciousness. This time it was a mixture of both of those, Blaine's eyes were bright with happiness and hope, but they were also distant, as if they were in a world that no one else could see.

But I could see it. I was here and I saw it, and I wasn't surprised to feel a tear fall down my cheek as I thought of how nice this moment was. All the lights were off and everything had a bluish tint, and in that moment all that existed in the world was Blaine's eyes and the magical colors that surrounded us. If I listened very closely, I could hear soft music playing in the distance, and I was able to contort it with my mind, and with what felt like magic, I was making "shine on you crazy diamonds" play inside my head. I could hear the music, but if I didn't concentrate hard enough it would fade away, but soon I was lost in Blaine's eyes again.

"I was just thinking…" said Blaine softly, little puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. "This moment is so much like my childhood… like this one time I…" he trailed off, as if unable to find the right way to say this. "When I was about 8, my brother was 11, I remember sitting under the kitchen table as my father threw my grandmothers china at my mother because she forgot to do the laundry. For some reason that's a happy memory… sitting in my brothers arms as we tried not to listen to the horrible things my parents were saying to each other. That was the week they got separate bedrooms. My dad… he's never told me anything, he's never told anyone anything, but I think I might have gotten this" Blaine gestured towards his head "from him. And I was just thinking, the way my brother made me feel that night… it's the way you make me feel all the time, except its different. It's just different and I don't know how… the moon…" he trailed off, staring at a random spot in space and looking completely and utterly absorbed in it.

"Blaine?" I slurred. He didn't move. "Blaine?"

Blaine sat up very fast and opened his mouth as if he were yawning and began stretching his arms around. The movement was so startling to me that I jumped and dropped half the weed that was resting on my thigh onto the floor.

"Oh! Oh sorry, it was just I couldn't move, and it wouldn't work unless I did it really fast…" Blaine hurried to help me pick up the pieces of green off the floor, and I was so preoccupied with getting every last bit back into a baggy that I didn't notice at first that Blaine was sitting so close to me, his face only an inch from my own. "I never liked her you know."

I turned, surprised to find Blaine so close but not reacting to it until about ten seconds after I noticed it. "Sammy?"

"Yah, I'm just stupid. I was being stupid." He shook his head a little, and I could feel and smell his breath on my face. It was a thick scent. It wasn't minty, though it somehow reminded me of when I was a child, walking outside and smelling the fresh air and newly mown grass in my nostrils.

Blaine's lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were fixed on my lips. If I had to find a word to describe him in that moment I would say charming, but there was something so distinctly Blaine about it that there could hardly ever be an exact word. Never the less, I still felt myself melt before him, and I placed the last stem of weed into the small baggie and placed it on my night stand before turning to him and looking Blaine right in the eyes.

"I want to kiss you, but I want this kiss too mean something." I breathed, my heart racing.

Blaine looked up at me through his eyelashes, a hopeful look in his eyes, but also a look that said he was ready to hear the worst. "Do I mean something to you?"

I clasped his face with my hands and said in a choked voice "god Blaine, you mean everything to me."

We kissed then, and it was Blaine who had leaned forward, and it was Blaine who pressed his soft lips to mine as if it were something he had been waiting to do all of his life. After our first kiss came many more kisses, and soon Blaine was lying on top of me and the only thing that existed in the world was Blaine and his weight on top of me, the feeling of stubble on my cheek and the soft pressure of his lips on mine.

"I want you so bad." breathed Blaine as he trailed kisses down my neck.

"Goodness Blaine, what happened to the dapper virgin?" I said as I felt Blaine grind his cock down on my upper thigh.

He pulled away, just enough to look me in the eyes, and said "I want you to know all of me, Kurt. I'm not who everyone thinks I am."

The experience of having sex with Blaine is not something I can remember entirely. Sometimes I wish I had been a virgin that day, so I could have given myself entirely to him as he had done for me. Sometimes I wish that Blaine could have had some handsome man sweep him off his feet and pepper him with kisses until his skin was too red and his heart too large to tell the difference between a heartbeat and the most beautiful melody.

I do remember the ways Blaine's eyelashes rested on his cheekbones and how they seemed to flutter there like butterflies on a pink tinted petal. I remember seeing Blaine entirely for the first time, and I remember thinking 'this is it. I am losing my virginity.' I didn't even remember that to be untrue until later on when the thought had long passed by, and sometimes I wish so badly I would have never remembered. I traced my fingers across the fresh cuts across Blaine's upper thigh, hoping to give him the comfort that he had always given to me.

To this day, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life is Blaine, as I look up at him through my eyelashes, face broken into pure pleasure as I wrap my lips around him. His lips parted slightly, eyes wide and hooded from underneath, eyebrows knit together. Blaine gasped and tugged at the sheets of my bed as I set up a rhythm of sinking my mouth down further and further, and then up again, around his cock.

I remember thinking how strange it was that, as many blowjobs I had given, it was this one that I felt so entirely vulnerable and so entirely open and frightened. It was so intimate, and it was something I had never experienced before, and the concept was just too much for me to comprehend.

I don't remember how we decided who would be on top, I just remember being so high, seeing so many colors that were mixed like paint with sounds, and just begging to feel Blaine on top of me, to be smothered with his scent and to suffocate against his muscles, lips, and skin.

Somewhere through my haze of lust and swirls, I managed to force a condom on Blaine, displaying an amount of responsibility, or care, that I had no idea I possessed. After that was a blur of electric touched and wet, warm kisses all over my body and everything lingering, everything on fire. Then Blaine was pushing inside me, and I was pushed back to reality like surfacing water after a 20 foot dive.

Here I was, Kurt Hummel, as Blaine Anderson pushed inside me slowly and gently as if afraid I would scream out. I looked into his eyes and became aware that such a simple gesture was all Blaine had wanted in the first place.

It was laying underneath Blaine, my beautiful, beautiful Blaine, holding his gaze and feeling closer to another human being, to this human being, than I had ever been in my life, that got me through the pain. It was Blaine's honey eyes that prevented bad memories of sweaty men and dirty kneecaps rising to the surface and taking away my serenity. The feeling of Blaine inside me was so incredibly sensational that I was shaking, and he was trying to rub my arms to tell me everything was okay, but my eyes were rolling back in my head and my stomach was vibrating in rhythm with Blaine's thrusts. Everything felt like ice and everything felt like fire, my heart was singing and my swirls were dancing, and Blaine was there to watch them, he was there to see what no one else could see, he was there to connect with me and morph together like vines winding and winding around each other until neither can know where one begins and the other ends.

It was Blaine who came first, calling out my name with a sob and still pushing into me until everything went white, and nothing existed but my mind, Blaine's presence, and inexpressible pleasure that seemed to collapse upon itself to create its own dimension of consciousness.

We lay together, sweating, breathing, and existing. Out chests scratched against each other and chest hair burned but neither of us could care. Soon we were lost in each other's eyes, and I managed to get the strength to put on Dark Side of the Moon, and we listened to it on repeat in the semidarkness, absorbed in each other's eyes, too high to talk, too thoughtful to move.

Blaine didn't leave until he had too, for my father still did not know about him, and it was the hardest goodbye I had ever made.

O.o.O

Have you ever sat in the dark, or perhaps in the sunlight and found yourself suspended in time and thought, simply existing and having no idea how you got to where you are? If you try to remember, you can recall putting one foot in front of the other, saying hellos and goodbyes and shedding tears over problems that are only at the tip of your tongue. But somehow all those moments seem cloudy, as if rushed through but never fully experienced, and then suddenly you're in one place and you realize that the next time you feel this way, another chunk of your life will be long gone.

Sometimes I feel like those moments are the only ones where I'm alive, and sometimes I feel like because of that my life will only be but 5 minutes of the realization that reality is nothing and imagination is the only thing keeping me plastered to the earth. Sometimes I remember Pink Floyd's song, Brain Damage.

"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor, and every day the paper boy brings more."

Sometimes it's when I'm standing on the porch, remembering those times I would skip the middle step, or when my mother had smiled at me from across the yard and I had realized I would never survive without her. Sometimes it would happen when I stand at the sink doing dishes, and all of a sudden I no longer see what I am doing although I am looking straight into the sink. Sometimes it happens when I look into Blaine's eyes, but this time it happens while my knees are buried in dirt and my throat is full of an unfamiliar black cock, and my peripheral vision shows Blaine looking mirror to my own insanity. Perhaps not a mirror, for a tear falls down his cheek, and the man he's sucking off reaches down and thumbs it off in an almost loving gesture, and I see Blaine cringe.

Reality slams into being so fiercely and suddenly, and I am resentful because it is moments like these where existence is the last thing I would ever want for myself.

So here I am, twigs digging into my kneecaps, pushing some guy's dick out of my mouth as I try to figure out where my hands are. I vaguely register that I am trying to stand up, and something that might be voices. I don't know. All I know is that I don't know where I am or how I got there. I also know that the only thing I am intent on doing is getting Blaine as far as possible from this situation.

The next second, or at least that was what it seemed to me, I was on my knees in front of Blaine who was no longer on his knees In front of some stranger, but on his knees facing me. I'm rubbing his cheek with my thumb, and after what could have been minutes, though perhaps it was just a fraction of a second, I registered that I was apologizing over and over again.

Blaine was nodding off, as if he were hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His head was bobbing slightly, and I wondered if he realized he was no longer going down on somebody.

Something hard hit my thigh, and I realized someone had kicked me. I turned around to see the two tall black men walking away, pulling up their pants and cursing. But I wasn't thinking about the throbbing pain in my thigh or the salty taste on my tongue, I was thinking about Blaine.

Blaine Anderson, the boy who gave everything and never asked for anything, was kneeling in front of me with pre-come on his lips and tears falling down his cheeks. What was it all for? Why did this have to be? It was because of me. Because of me the most unique and most terrifyingly wonderful boy in the entire world looked just like me, like a wasted old junkie.

"I don't want to do it anymore." Whispered Blaine.

"What?"

"I don't want to do it anymore." Blaine started to get up, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes and staggering as he tried to find balance on his feet. "I don't want to do it. I don't want to do it. I can't. I can't. I just…" Blaine fell to his knees, obviously too high to walk, but the fall was the last straw and he began taking large gasps of air, clutching at his chest as if begging his body to stop betraying him. Blaine was sobbing, digging one hand into his tee shirt and the other into his hair. He looked utterly mad.

"Blaine?" I said, and I had no idea what to do. Part of me was so used to seeing Blaine like this, tears in his eyes and agony on his face, but there was something different about this moment.

Usually the monsters the tormented Blaine lay within his own mind, unable to disappear and far too familiar, almost like a best friend with a nasty temper. Usually the voices and visions were the ones to cause Blaine to keel over in pain or to believe, if only for a moment, that his body was on fire.

But this time it was me who was hurting him. This time it was me, Kurt, Blaine's only friend, the person who was supposed to protect him as Blaine had protected me, I was the one who was sending Blaine into a fit of sadness and hurt that so very few people could ever understand.

Dead leaves cracked and squished beneath my knees and dirty water seeped through my black skinny jeans, and I became so incredibly aware that I felt the same moisture on my back. Somewhere I was falling, and voices were calling Blaine's name over and over again, and they sounded so desperate, so incredibly in need that I shed a tear for those voices because all they needed was the name on their lips.

But it was so cold here, and I just wanted to know Blaine was okay, but I couldn't see him. I still heard footsteps but all I could see was the throbbing pain in my head that looked such a delicate shade of red. I just wanted Blaine to come back, and it wasn't until then that I realized he was gone. I opened my eyes and saw the canopy of trees silhouetted against a fierce pink and blue sky. The edges of my vision were telling me stories and I tried so hard to listen, but the footsteps were gone now, and their absence was so loud I had to cover my ears with my hands and try to block out their sound with my screams.

The voices were calling Blaine's name again, it was echoing through the trees but I heard no answering call. My lips were moving, but I did not recognize the voices.