soz this one was short :/
SOTC: Blasphemy — Tyler Joseph
• my own body's waging war on me •
Carl turned on the water. Waited until he heard the door close.
Then he let himself blow apart.
He leaned against the outside edge of the tub, praying for some kinds of tears to come. Something. He just felt a roiling torrent inside of him, pushing and prying against the walls of his brain.
A metallic taste entered his throat, scraping into his mouth. Reluctantly, he swallowed it down, the reeking liquid leaving his insides feeling raw. Everything was feeling raw, the caverns of his mind, his skin, his chest.
The water was warm. He let his freezing fingers play through it first, feeling a little sick to his stomach, not wanting to get in too fast. His clothes were sweaty and weighed on his frame, but when he peeled them away, he felt just as shit-caked and disgusting.
He took a breath. Stood up, and stared at the mirror. His chest was marred with lines and bruises, most notably the large starburst of pink and white scartcissue from his first bullet wound. His eye bandage was the heaviest thing about him, but it felt more like structure and less like burden. Framework. Something that kept him from twisting apart.
He slowly, painfully, peeled away the bandage.
Carl hated his reflection. If not for the ugly, gouged-out scabtown of his right eye, but the way it threw his face out of proportion. Nobody could look at him without a sense of revulsion, including himself. He—without his coverings, his self-proclaimed framework—was only an entanglement of pain.
Internal, external. Everybody had both nowadays.
He stepped into the water, and prepared for the chokehold pressure around his head.
Especially at the beginning of this whole thing, he was afraid of the dark. Burrowed into himself. Never closed his eyes. But now, it felt so relieving not to see anything. Like peeling Elmer's glue from his skin when he was in third grade. Waking up from a bad dream to the half-deaf tap-tap of rain against the frozen forest dirt.
Closing his eye now felt better than leaving it open.
When it came down to it, that was why Carl Grimes was so deep inside of himself. Why he was so familiar with his insides, and the ugly way he spiraled out of commission.
That was why he wanted to disappear, with every ounce of his fingertips and the way his teeth chattered even when it wasn't cold.
It would just feel so relieving to leave this all behind.
♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛
The air was quiet when the water stopped.
Drops trickled off Carl's jawbone, and the puddle at his feet was stained pink with his eye's endless, stale blood.
He stepped out, and felt a little lighter. His hands were still shaking, but the walls around him, the silence clinging around his features, felt more like safety than claustrophobia.
He ran a hand through his long, wet hair, and pretended he was home.
x x x x x x x x x x
Word Count: 665
Created 3-2-17
Edited 4-23-17
Edited 6-28-17
Edited 8-17-17
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DEVILS ? C. G. 〖 #wattys2018 〗
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