Let That Be Enough

He once told me how he wished everything could dissolve into nothing, the nothing he had become. Eyes wide with terror, the blue chip of ice molding in a circle that made up his irises. And the soft velvety voice, underlying with pain and pity for himself, thick and wavering in the tense air chilled me to my very core, freezing the little warmth left in my soul.

"What am I going to do with myself? Huh Carmine? Look at me, a guitar playing screw up." His words were slurred together till they were blurred and indistinguishable. The many nights we had spent alone in the dim apartment as he purged himself in alcohol to the limit had made me a professional of the language, specializing in his language only.

I would sit there listening to his ramblings, his eyes wide with tiredness from staying up one too many nights thinking about life and writing songs about his raw anguish. Sometimes we would just sit there in silence as the same glaze drifted into his eyes till he was absolute in his own world where I didn't exist nor did our dead love, always a dreamer wishing he lived in endless black depths instead.

"Carmine, I always wish I could get away from this. From everything I'm not and everything I am." He would tell me while drinking himself into stupor. And I, I being the foolish friend I was just sat there and watched him drink himself drunk every night. I could never have the courage to tell him he had a problem because he would've shut me out along with the rest of the world. He was my black heart, and without him I would feel as though my already broken heart would be burned into ashes.

He would always be there for me in form, yet his mind was always somewhere else. And selfishly, he left me alone to defend myself in the world. He left me all alone to watch him pass out on my couch, night after night, as tears that had always threatened to fall finally fell to engulf my face in wet, miserable tears. I watched him fall apart till all that was left was a ghost of a ghost that was transparent in and out. Ironic enough, my love for him made me miserable, yet I knew if I was to leave, he would attempt the suicide he sang about in the songs he wrote, the songs he sung.

And some nights when I had enough courage to do so without breaking down, I held him in my arms as he cried from the pain that lingered inside, the pain that never seem to lighten or slowly fade into the background of everyday life. He always smelled of stale beer, yet it intoxicated me till I was high on him, high on my love for him. With him by my side, I was nothing. He stopped my tracks towards my dreams, my raw passion for simply living in innocence and happiness and losing myself in the beauty that surrounded the horrible.

I wish I could've been enough for him, but I wasn't. I was never enough for the great Anthony that needed his alcohol to drown his misery in. He never saw how much I really loved him and how he was killing me to pieces till there was nothing left of me but a ruined portion of Carmine, a ghost living upon the living spirits. The girl I once was had become a woman in love, yet it was a cynical love that would always encumber my heart and conscience. He was the dreamer and I was the one that was there to watch him fall into the same dark pit, always falling and never flying.

Sinkin' deep in my depression

Your love is slowly killing me

Everywhere he turned, there was always the hollow black that surrounded the world, as if the good was simply dead along with his soul. When he was on stage, singing his heart out, his eyes would look through the crowd at the fans as if wondering where I was. I would sit there in the dark corner, watching him scream his voice out as his hands expertly played the acoustic guitar as I hid myself from him; the man I loved yet at the same time was a dead weight upon my heart. I hated to love him. The passion we once had for each other was dead and black as the nights after his shows. His haunting eyes followed the shadows as if they were friends instead of foes. It made sense though. He had become a shadow among the living.

You slowly commit suicide

Dragging me along

I would wake up on the couch the next day with the sun streaming down in my face, burning my light skin into pieces that were already broken. He changed me, you know. Everywhere I looked was now either horrific or ugly. Why had all the beauty drained from my life? I was loving myself to my own death and grave.

You know, He was once different. I was once different. Things weren't always like this where we lived in the dark… We once lived in the light of innocence… in the light of pure love.

A/N: I don't know… It seems like I try to put emotion in, but I don't do it very well. Suggestions please? Also, This chapter is dedicated to Andy (onion ring). Sorry it's crap! *cough*revenge ;)