The biding rope

The first, toxic string

There's a thin line connecting the two. One wrong move and the rope will snap. Holding it steady and right is a hassle; all so it didn't snap. So they didn't snap. One tried exceptionally hard to make sure the thin rope didn't snap in two. The other did not care. They did not have any feelings at all. Cold and heartless, they tried not to keep the rope tight. It began to loosen.

Tired, the one who kept the rope steady after years of endurance collapsed. They could not bear the weight of the other, constantly tugging them in a sorrowful attempt to get somewhere and tighten the rope. The thin string had begun transferring every single one of the fool's problems onto the poor, tired soul.

"Get up." Snarling, the weightless one kicked the other while that were down. When there was no response, they kicked harder. "I said get up!" Once more, no response.

The string began to tear.

Frantic, the less prepared grabbed a chair. "Pay more attention to me!" They demanded, breaking it over their head. "You're always avoiding me!" It was a lie. Every day they spent together. More time was spent with the idiot than taking care of themselves, their friends, or their family. Their life had fallen apart, just so the fool would get their selfish attention fix.

                                                                                           S n a p.

The strand snapped, it was too late. They had already taken one step forward and two steps back. They had fallen into the deep end. Indulging in things they shouldn't, allowing the thoughts to win.... Some of them being thoughts the goat-footed fool fed to them.

                                                     Drip.

                                                                           Drip.

                                                                                                         Drip.

Their neck was torn open, a pool of such thoughts seeping out. An ugly demon stepped out, along with another. They seeped out in what seemed like a never-ending flow, even forming from the blood on the knife they held in their hand.

The weight of the heavier's demons sprung at the lighter like a wild hound. They clawed at them, threw chairs, kicked them, abused them. Lies and self hate seeped out of the now gone, snaking into the insanely thins of the living. Incompetent and ignorant, the lighter shrugged. Those demons weren't their problem. Stepping over, they picked up the stained knife and stabbed the corpse for their own enjoyment.