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Cold to the core
fire has always been his toy. he likes the way it warms him up when most couldn't. odd, how someone so cold could fall in love with something so hot. his lighter rests in his palm as he fidgets with it, slowly getting more and more tired of this hellhole known as life. he doesn't want to be around anymore to witness the consequences of his actions nor does he want to have to deal with the regret. the fire he set devours the kerosene in a flash of scorching flame and soon begins to burn the furniture it had been daubed on. thick, black clouds of smoke choke the air. the fire alarm sits useless on the counter where he had put it. he meant to die in his bed, from the noxious smoke and if not, he would die on the upper landing for he had soaked the stair carpet too. the fire would be too quick, too ferocious for the fire fighters to get there in time. in the morning, the house would be ash and he would be free.
killed by the hands of his only love
HOSEOK
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Faith falls hard on our shoulders
he feels like a ghost in a world of paper dolls. he is the ghost in his own machine. he is a ghost running through time and space, looking, always looking in the blackness for a sacred spark. a spark of hope. he'd always hoped things would get better and that he could genuinely smile. be happy for once but he now stands on the bridge, feeling nothing. he was always a giver, warm and loving. even as a child he never cried, seeking to make others happy. often people sought him in times of trouble and he gave all he had- his whole heart and showered love upon them. yet when his time came to suffer, when his world was a hurricane of ice, every light but one switched off. all but one offered their skinny love, shallow and brief, before finding a reason to excuse their flight. but maybe that's the way it had to be, one light to follow, no choice but to walk toward love and truth. perhaps the road towards heaven feels like hell. because he can tell you now he's never felt more empty in mind, body or soul, never so bereft of any comfort. he has never felt so worthless or disposable, never so wretched and cold. those are his thoughts as he falls to the floor, shaking from grief and the poison running through his veins.
