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I Don't Need Anyone, Anyone

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I hurt you,

So why is it that you keep coming back?

Apollo stands quietly at the tree, grunting and groaning his worries into its bark. It would've been two people, in fact it should've, but the curse of his own follows him. To be degraded with partners who live and die by the same hands they once kissed the freckles on, a shame that they will never realize what ended most of them. 

He glances down at the hyacinths basking in the dawn, cold winds blowing off petal after petal, as if it's teasing him. He loves me, he loves me not, he-- he will never remember Apollo. Down in Tartarus, there are greater things to worry about than some god you hooked up with for a few days. 

Even the grass treats him better than the winds themselves, brushing and blowing throw him until he's taken off his feet and onto the ground. He rubs his bum and curses under his breath to the same thing that turned that discus astray. But he still needs to get back up.

So he does, alone, by his own hands. They feel cold without another person holding them, even when he tries to warm them up himself it doesn't work. He will never feel that comforting warmth for more than a minute. 

Maybe the next day will let him breathe in peace. 

Because,

You're bitterly addictive.