KORBIN
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
To make you bow and spit it out?
He knew that rush. It was in the cussing, in the refusal of helping hands, in the rudeness and the outbursts. It was in his persistent denial and twisting of everything people told him, in the refuge of his anger...
It was a sweet sensation of being in control. Ever so slightly, of at least one small thing. His life was a ruin, a smoldering pile of refuse where a happy life should have been, and the only thing he could still decide was whether to rise up and step away from it or not. He had tried to kill himself, but that had been denied him. He had tried to drown himself in booze, and that too was being taken away. So if he refused to live and was unable to die or forget, then what was left?
Nothing. Nothing but these small acts of vengence, where the inflicting of pain on those around him awarded a twisted sense of accomplishment. See? Told you I was no good. Told you it wouldn't work, that it would hurt. You didn't believe me and now it's your own fault that you're bleeding.
"I already am like that," he said hoarsely, voice thick with self loathing. "I don't want help because there's no point in fixing what is already broken. I have no reason to stay in this fucked up, pointless world, so. You really would do everyone a favor if you stopped trying."
It was a sweet sensation of being in control. Ever so slightly, of at least one small thing. His life was a ruin, a smoldering pile of refuse where a happy life should have been, and the only thing he could still decide was whether to rise up and step away from it or not. He had tried to kill himself, but that had been denied him. He had tried to drown himself in booze, and that too was being taken away. So if he refused to live and was unable to die or forget, then what was left?
Nothing. Nothing but these small acts of vengence, where the inflicting of pain on those around him awarded a twisted sense of accomplishment. See? Told you I was no good. Told you it wouldn't work, that it would hurt. You didn't believe me and now it's your own fault that you're bleeding.
"I already am like that," he said hoarsely, voice thick with self loathing. "I don't want help because there's no point in fixing what is already broken. I have no reason to stay in this fucked up, pointless world, so. You really would do everyone a favor if you stopped trying."
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
