Disclaimer: I do not own PSoH and I am not associated with "Cursive" in anyway. Darn. BUT…Kaine is MINE!!! All MINE!! Nya-haha

Author's Note: Well, this is the reposting of 'Detachment' which I took down the first time in my own blinded rage. XD And, am I glad I did? Hell, yeah!!! Power to ME! Damn you, Lint, damn you!! I also decided to change this story a LOT from how I wanted to finish it a few months ago, when I was a happy person. Since, it's no longer a plot spoiler I'll go ahead and tell you I was planning to take a depressed Kaine, add a pet, add symbolism and get a 'happy' ending, but now I realized that life's a major bitch, and if I have to go through a rough, lonely and friendless life, then, by God, so will Kaine!!

Story Note: From this point on, there will be LOTS of blood, LOTS of swearing and LOTS of death. I hope you enjoy it! If you don't like that, then, F off!! And I mean that in the nicest way. Really.


Cut it out- Your self-inflicted pain
Is getting too routine
The crowds are catching on
To the self-inflicted song

How is it that I wound up here, on this stage, with a screaming crowd in front of me? I remember how it used to be, a quiet life with my mother, older brother and my girlfriend. But, then again, when I take a good long look at my old life, I wonder who I'm trying to kid. My life may have been quiet, but that was only because everyone was screaming in a muted anguish.

My mother was never home when I was a kid. Instead she was at every bar within a thirty mile radius of our city; dancing, drinking, and sleeping with anyone who had the money. She would come home very late at night, or really early in the morning, climb into my small bed and start crying, while stroking my hair. Around that time, I would wake up, take her into the kitchen and make her a cup of tea to sooth her nerves, and for a few hours she would act like how a mother should; calm, collected and loving. I won't stand here and tell you that what she did was right, but she did it to support us. However, as a kid, and even now, I will say this; I would have much rather slowly starved to death then to ever see my mother cry.

Well, here we go again
The art of acting weak
Fall in love to fail
To boost your CD sales
(And that CD sells- yeah, what a hit)
You've got to repeat it

My brother wasn't much better off. Since he turned eighteen he had become addicted to drugs. He didn't care what it was, so long as it took him away from reality. But it wasn't always that way. My brother tried his best to get a job, but every place in our close-minded town refused him because it had become common-knowledge that my brother was homosexual. My brother was one of the smartest people in the whole town, reading Darwin at the age of ten, a genuine super-genius, but nobody cared about that. Nothing went well for my brother. He was the target of innumerable hate crimes because he was gay, our mother was a prostitute, we were poor, and our father had packed up and left because he just couldn't handle us. It had gotten so bad that, one day he almost committed suicide.

you gotta' sink to swim
If at first you don't succeed
you gotta recreate your misery
'cause we all know art is hard
young artists have gotta starve

I had walked down into our small basement and found my brother and his boyfriend, John, grappling and kicking. At first, I had thought they had gotten into a fight, but then I saw my poor brother was crying, a knife was in his hand and was screaming, "I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!" John saw me and screamed to me to get the knife away from my brother. When I had gotten the weapon away from my brother, he collapsed into John's arms and started beating his chest with his fists, before breaking down and bawling. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran. I don't even remember where I went, but about six hours later I went back home and found my brother on the couch, asleep, and John on the couch opposite of him, his face contorted into a very serious expression. When he heard me walk into the room he got up and walked over to me.
"Take care of him for me," he said and walked away, never turning around again.

Try, and fail, and try again
The comforts of repetition
Keep churning out those hits
'Till it's all the same old shit

When my brother finally woke up he asked, "Where's John?" I said he left. My brother replied, "Figures," gave me a small bitter-sweet smile and went back to the basement. That hurt smile was the last human expression I saw on my brother, because after that he went to drugs and had a perpetual smile on his face.
My poor, poor brother, wherever you have gone, do you realize you left your body and me behind?

Oh, a second verse!
Well, color me fatigued
I'm hiding in the leaves
In the CD jacket sleeves

My girlfriend. What on earth can I say about her? Absolutely nothing, that's what. She was never there. She only even recognized me as her boyfriend whenever she wanted something, like a ride in my car or a trip to the movies. One day, I got tired of it all and dumped her. She called me a filthy bastard, but who cares? I was finally rid of her.

Tired of entertaining
Some double-deaf meaning
A soft serve analogy
These drunken angry slurs
In thirty-one flavors

Soon, I don't even remember how old I was at the time, I ran away from home and joined a band. First, I started out as one of the stage hands, but after being caught singing my heart out once when I thought everyone had gone, I was made a back-up singer. Not too long after that, I became the lead singer.

You gotta' sink, gotta' sink, gotta' sink to swim
Immerse yourself in rejection
Regurgitate some sorry tale
About a boy who sells his love affairs

So, there you have it; My Life. Wonderful, isn't it? It has to be something, considering all of these people have come to my concert just to hear me sing about that Hell I used to live in. I can try to communicate my feelings through these useless words, but it doesn't seem to be working. In the darkened nightclub where we're playing tonight, I can see the faces of the people that are listening to me. Do they even understand what I'm trying to tell them? Do they want to understand? No, they don't. That's why, even though I must have walked a million miles away from Oblivion, I'm still somehow alone in a crowd. I can't stand it anymore!

You gotta' fake, gotta' fake, gotta' fake the pain
You gotta' make, gotta' make, gotta' make it sting
You're gotta' brake, gotta' brake, gotta' brake a leg
When you get on stage
And they scream your name!

Listen to me! Listen to me! I want you to know me! Not the fake me! The real me! The ME inside of this apocryphal dissimulation! Do not misconstrue my words as meaningless lyrics! Please listen! I need you, want you to listen! Understand! Understand! Understand ME!!

You gotta' sink, gotta' sink, gotta' sink to swim
Impersonate greater persons

The room swims. The people blur. The colors suddenly fade into black. The noise is drowned into nothingness.
The song that I've been singing since my birth is finally over.

'Cause we all know art is hard
When we don't know who We are