Angels, chapter 2

There's a voice.

A voice that's been dwelling in his head,
for a long time now,
like scrapers.
Devouring all the thoughts he's holding.

It's an obsession.

An ancient obsession of the heart,
with the right to be selfish.

He's hitting the floor with his fists,
his knuckles cracking uncomfortably with every new punch,
and his muscles growing weaker.

I lay my hands on his wrists,
and he stops to sink down.

He's lying rolled up n the corner,
shaking his head slowely again and again,
unrhythmical.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud.

He does that every time he's in pain.
Or when he's confused.
When he's pessimistic.
Or when he's high.

I hold his head,
trying to not make him hurt too much.

He sighs sadly,
smooth- shattering sobs escaping his lips.

I'm lying down next to him,
wrapping my arms around him gently,
stroking his cheek.
Running my fingers through his hair.

The weight upon his heart gets lighter,
not something he can really tell or feel.
Because he doesn't see me,
doesn't know I'm here,
taking care of him.

He doesn't know I'm always by his side.
I'm his guarding angel,
and I'm always waiting just around the corner of his eye.