"Teach me"
- we were lying in bed -
"- how to care."

- Carol Ann Duffy.

His hands fling the books off the bookshelf, his eyes burning with anger. He doesn't know who is angry at despite it being the only thing he can feel. His heart is burning, it is on fire and his mind is filled with words he doesn't understand. All he understands is this fire, this horrible ache and sympathy for himself. It's all he knows right now.

All the common sense and logic of his head has all disappeared, leaving him with nothing but these terrible emotions. He cannot even begin to understand them, let alone explain how it feels to have this thunderstorm of pain within his chest.

His arms hit the bookshelf and his lips are agape in a scream of sounds rather than words. He cannot understand words. They all seem foreign; all he knows is fire and anger and desire. A horrible sense of desire has overcome him, the same sense of desire that has burnt his home many times before and is destroying it again. He wishes that he didn't have a heart at times like this so he would never feel this sort of loneliness and anger ever again.

With a sinking feeling of despair, he takes a deep breath. He looks at the fallen books, tries to understand what he has done. In a silent thought, he reminds himself to fix up the books later until another thought asks him what's the point? What is the point of all of this when he will always fall down to this pitiful state? What is the point of this circle; of this winning and losing and gaining and losing once again. Why can't he just win? He deserves to win. He needs to win. He'll destroy anything in the way. He will ruin it all if he has to. He just needs to cure his heart and cure this flame of desire with satisfaction.

Until then; he will not rest.

Let him win.