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Have you ever loved someone so much you hated them? Needed them so badly that you don't know where you end and they begin and it makes you sick? I have. I do. I hate him. I love him. I need him. I despise him. He's so perfect. And so imperfect at the same time. How is that possible? I don't know, but somehow he manages it. A study in contradictions, the epitome of irony, that's him, to a tee.
I sometimes wonder how I can be the only person who sees him for what he is. A whore. A manipulator. The man I love more than anything in the world. My brother, the perfect destroyer. The sublime hate. I love to hate him, as much as I hate to love him. I'm thinking in circles, going nowhere, wanting something, but getting nothing. Nothing but him. It's enough.
It's been this way for as long as I can remember, long before we were lovers, long before crowds screamed for his pleasure, long before we became known as the picture of the perfect brothers, a picture nobody seemed to notice was faded and torn and covered in filth. It's always been that way, the way he likes it, the way I let it be...because it's habit, I guess.
Oh don't look at me like that...like I made my bed and now must lie in it. I know who's to blame, and it's not me. Unless he says so. And then maybe it is. I let our lives continue like this, so warped and twisted and wrong...so wrong that it's almost right. Does that make sense? If it does, could you explain it to me?
He's the poet, the artist, the sensitive one, the one they all walk on eggshells to placate, the one everyone adores but nobody really knows. I know. I wish I didn't. I wish I could be as blissfully ignorant as every other person in our lives, wish I didn't know him for the liar, the deceiver, the corruptor he is. Wish I didn't love him all the more for knowing those things.
It's an addiction, like any other, but more dangerous I think. I'm addicted to the sound of his voice, whispering to me in the dark, beckoning me to his side, begging me to make him scream one more time. Just one more time. It's always one more time. And never one more time. And I can never resist.
I'm addicted to his taste, sweet and salty, candy and cum, pleasure and pain...blending into an aphrodisiac cocktail on my tongue. I'm a slave to his wants, servant to his desires, concubine to his lust. If only those wants, desires and lusts didn't so perfectly match my own. But they do. We are almost one, yet not. The same in our dysfunction, but opposite in our ways. He succumbs with no guilt. I writhe in it. He glories in the broken shards of convention, while I strive vainly to repair them.
In his arms, I come undone. Now who's going to put me back together?
Jeff's POV
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Why does he bother trying to deny what he is, what I am, what we are together? There ain't no justification for what we do in the shadows, no matter how he'd like it to be otherwise. Oh, to hear him tell it, I'm the evil one, the seducer, the master of this game. Don't be so quick to believe everything you hear.
I give him what he wants, what he needs. Without me to take him to that place, he'd go mad, because in the mindlessness, there is sanity. That's what I give to him, sanity, reason, perfection. He knows it and I know it. But he'll never admit it. And I don't try to make him. Because we both know and that's enough. For now.
Have you ever been another person's sanity? It's a bitch, believe me. So yeah, I might take a little more than I should because of that, because it ain't fair that he forces that on me. My brother, so responsible, so self-righteous. Except in the dark when my mouth is on his cock and he's sobbing my name. Then he's as much the whore as he'd claim I am.
He cries when he comes. Cries against my neck and swears this is the last time. I never contradict him. Because there will never be a "last time" for us. But he cries and swears no more...no more, Jeff, he says, we can't do this anymore. And I just hold him and wipe away his tears and nod my agreement. Until the sun goes down again and I whisper his name into the shadows and before the sound fades he is there, in my arms, and we begin the circle over again.
I never asked to be what I am, the golden child, the one everybody thinks can do no wrong, always excused for my behavior, no matter how abhorrent, because of how they see me. Matt hates it, I see it, I know it, I can't change it. He punishes me for it every day. In small ways. Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes that's what he's doing, punishing me for being what I am, what I can't help being.
What's ironic is his punishments only further other's perceptions of me as the very thing he is punishing me for. He says I'm weird and they pity me. He subtly mocks my poems, my music, and they feel sorry for me. He berates my irresponsibility and they martyr me. He can't win, and I can't lose. And that's not my fault. But he blames me anyway. And I take that blame and own it. Because it's all he'll give me.
What I want is his love. But he'll never give it. Because it's the one thing he has that he knows I want, and he can't bring himself to give me what I want, when he thinks I have everything else. Why doesn't he know that his love is worth everything else? Maybe he does. Maybe that's why he withholds it. And he says I'm the manipulator. I only know what he has taught me.
I've long since come undone. And he won't put me back together.
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So unimpressed but so in awe…Such a saint but such a whore…So self aware so full of shit…So indecisive so adamant…I'm contemplating thinking about thinking…It's so frustrating just get another drink in…Watch me come undone…
So rock and roll so corporate suit…So damn ugly, so damn cute…So well trained, so animal…So need your love, so fuck you all…I'm not scared of dying I just don't want to…If I stopped lying I'd just disappoint you…I come undone…
