you ruin me; Krys pony/any

[Offspring]

something has been taken from deep inside of me;
the secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see.

 The sun is as bleak as it is blinding; its rays shrouded within the evening fog that has begun to settle in. Shedding its last remnants of light between dense, brittle branches, the sun begins its destined descent behind the mountain that looms off in the distance, leaving darkness in its wake. The fog does not stay at bay, soon weaving its way through the dense foliage and settling mere feet above the frigid forest floor. 
 
   Gently, it laps along the hardened lines of his muscled, scarred form, which scarcely moves within the shadows aside from the occasionally drawn out shifting of his chest as he breathes. Hardened with resolve, his piercing red eyes are the only source of color as a starless night has begun its descent, and soon there is nothing left to see but dried, fallen leaves and small, residual piles of snow.
 
   A shallow breath emerges from the depths of his lungs, and a light cloud of carbon dioxide lingers before the darkened line of his mouth as the girth of his body presses firmly between two oak trees. A shudder follows the hardened line of his spine as he pushes forward, his powerful limbs parting brittle branches which bend and break easily against the obstinate lines of his massive body. The dry, brittle bark scratches at his skin, agitating the puckered, pink scars that mars an otherwise smooth surface of black, but soon he is released from the grasp of the prickling branches and exposed to a vast, open clearing.
 
   Before him, a crystalline body of water, pristine and pure – so much unlike the rest of the land, which is still tainted with spilled blood, forgotten memories, and well kept secrets. A peculiar figure looms near the waters’ edge – dark in appearance and riddled with youthful curiosity, peering at something too miniscule for his roving red eyes to see from such a vacuous distance.
 
   After an indecisive moment, his own inquiring mind relinquishes control of an otherwise stoic, disinterested façade, and quietly, he advances – thick, refined muscle moving seamlessly beneath the dark canvas of his masculine form with each step forward. Mere feet away, his burning, blistering gaze follows the gentle curve of her shoulder, down the length of her leg and to the small collection of .. things.
 
   With a low chuckle, his voice (rough from neglect, rattling within his throat carves into the silence. ”I can’t say that I have ever seen anyone look at a rock like that before,” he muses. ”and I have seen a lot of things in my time. Why that one?”

wounds so deep they never show; they never go away.
like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played.

Offspring