You cried, and why was it all for?
That was all he could hear in his head while the broom slowy sweep around the first floor, taking with it all the rest of food that was left from dinner, midnight wasnt the ideal time for this, but it was easier to keep himself busy a this late hours.
Specially when it was taking every strength he had left to not let his hands off the stick and do something he may regret soon or later, so sweeping slowly was the way to go.
Though it couldn't help the never-ceasing voice that didn't stop repeating and repeating, again and again and again and again and again and again- it was getting even his head trembling in a threat to fall into the old habit he thought would never have to use again.
And he wouldn't used it, he had made a promise to himself to make everything in his will to not let it happen.
The endless pressure in his chest was crushing him, why did you cried, why did you cried, is in this void you wish could scratch, that's burning all down, what you wanted to have? You need help, you seek help, but your voice cant go out, you can't let yourself fall, but you need to.
They were only out for a little rest, listening trough some tunes while the night avanced at a pace he couldn't catch up, it was too fast. And as the first notes went, his voice cracked in pain while trying to sing along, he wanted to swallow up, to shut up and stop the tears that were about to fall.
But when was the last time he allowed to let it happen? If it wasnt now when else? So he sang along even if it sounded horrible, even if all the tears down his face were making a mess in his hands and checks, he didn't know why he was crying, was it for all? Was it because of the hour? Why why why, but he didnt have time for it, while the song ended so his shaking hands try to clean all of what was left.
He felt so drained, but it wasnt the good kind of, like making ten go around the park running or having to carry a lot of stuff while everyone just watched you go around. He wanted to fall asleep.
But this wasn't his bed, and so step by step he made it to his room, letting himself fall where he belonged.
Almost finished sweeping he could see all the dirt below everything, what he thought a good day afterwards would become the pain in his head, making the void stretch down his torso and leaking into the ground.
He wished to curl up and cry again, but he refused to as a whisper in his head asked if it was really worth it, all this weariness it caused, the further punching in his mind now it was over was horrible.
Maybe having that weight was better than having this void that tempted to eat everything, his hands wished to make a way trough his chest only to cease the feeling and put an end.
Either was better and he knew it, all he wanted was help, help to go around this, to finally stop shaking, because all their mechanism to bring himself back weren't working as intended.
He was hurting, that wasn't good at all, and as he readied the dustpan for the dirt, his troat was burning for all of this.
If only he could open his mouth already.
