Losing a Friend....
Jan. 28th, 2011 03:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
krowfaceCold text in an early morning email drags its weight across my eyes. I sit, stunned and silent, for a moment. Let the words sink in. Nothing works. No response. I feel nothing. Because I have to go to work, I have to do my job, and I can't let what happened affect me.
The day goes by quickly as I use work to delay my reaction. As I still the dagger plunging into my heart.
And now I'm home, now I'm alone, and now I face what has been said and done. Now I give proper focus and view to his words. Now I imagine hearing them.
Imagine him saying it to my face.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Smelling the familiar scent of Guiness and Doritoes waft across me. Spiky leather drapped arm wrapped around my shoulder. That awesome evil demonic laugh. That shared rage of ruined love as we howl in time to the angriest of metal, trying to drown the pain of our broken hearts with fidelity and brotherhood. Brave in our need to wear our hearts on our sleeves. How in the right light we were mistaken for each other. How we were THAT much alike. Warrior poets lost in the maelstrom.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Shaking the halls of the haunt. Chasing our innocent victims. Calling out and calling back to each other across a dark labrynth. Laughing at the cartoon fear of others. The Slaugher Brothers, he and I. Romulus and Remus. The star children of the Slaughterhouse. "There is no House without the brothers."
Coated in theatrical blood. Stinking of dark brews. Laughing in sync with the screams.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Secluded on the side of a mountain, deep in the woods, watching the sun come up. Solidarity found in lashing out against a world that couldn't understand us. Gross misadventures that would've killed the standard default we call "everyone else".
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Life and God dictate that I move, again and again, farther and farther away. A strong bond worn thin with time and distance. Each visit becomes colder. I am told BAD THINGS. I stand up for my brother. I am informed of the BAD THINGS he says about me. I refuse to believe them. I refuse to give up. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. I can't believe anything different.
Evidence points to the contrary again and again.
Who is this man that I once called brother, now poisoned against me and damning my name to people closest to me? What has changed? What has happened?
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
The end comes as it much. With a brutal finality. He dies in front of me. A viking funeral as he burns in a pyre, staked against the hardened remains of my heart.
As any good wake, I should sing of our time and story together. And those final words ring too loudly, and it kills my melody, and it makes my lyrics ring oh so hollow.
Instead I listen to the soundtrack of us. And I breathe in deep of what we had. And my eyes ache with painful tears. I choke them back, refusing to let this new betrayal and abandonment ruin me.
The world continues to spin, and I move on, and I leave him behind. Always willing to die for my brother, but never willing to let him take me down with him. We poisoned ourselves, and we accepted it because we did it together. Now he does it alone. Now he fights his own battles, no matter what they are. Now without me next to him.
A new fucking hole burned into a heart that knows too much.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Maybe not Dave. But I always cared about what YOU had to say.
The day goes by quickly as I use work to delay my reaction. As I still the dagger plunging into my heart.
And now I'm home, now I'm alone, and now I face what has been said and done. Now I give proper focus and view to his words. Now I imagine hearing them.
Imagine him saying it to my face.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Smelling the familiar scent of Guiness and Doritoes waft across me. Spiky leather drapped arm wrapped around my shoulder. That awesome evil demonic laugh. That shared rage of ruined love as we howl in time to the angriest of metal, trying to drown the pain of our broken hearts with fidelity and brotherhood. Brave in our need to wear our hearts on our sleeves. How in the right light we were mistaken for each other. How we were THAT much alike. Warrior poets lost in the maelstrom.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Shaking the halls of the haunt. Chasing our innocent victims. Calling out and calling back to each other across a dark labrynth. Laughing at the cartoon fear of others. The Slaugher Brothers, he and I. Romulus and Remus. The star children of the Slaughterhouse. "There is no House without the brothers."
Coated in theatrical blood. Stinking of dark brews. Laughing in sync with the screams.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Secluded on the side of a mountain, deep in the woods, watching the sun come up. Solidarity found in lashing out against a world that couldn't understand us. Gross misadventures that would've killed the standard default we call "everyone else".
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Life and God dictate that I move, again and again, farther and farther away. A strong bond worn thin with time and distance. Each visit becomes colder. I am told BAD THINGS. I stand up for my brother. I am informed of the BAD THINGS he says about me. I refuse to believe them. I refuse to give up. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. I can't believe anything different.
Evidence points to the contrary again and again.
Who is this man that I once called brother, now poisoned against me and damning my name to people closest to me? What has changed? What has happened?
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
The end comes as it much. With a brutal finality. He dies in front of me. A viking funeral as he burns in a pyre, staked against the hardened remains of my heart.
As any good wake, I should sing of our time and story together. And those final words ring too loudly, and it kills my melody, and it makes my lyrics ring oh so hollow.
Instead I listen to the soundtrack of us. And I breathe in deep of what we had. And my eyes ache with painful tears. I choke them back, refusing to let this new betrayal and abandonment ruin me.
The world continues to spin, and I move on, and I leave him behind. Always willing to die for my brother, but never willing to let him take me down with him. We poisoned ourselves, and we accepted it because we did it together. Now he does it alone. Now he fights his own battles, no matter what they are. Now without me next to him.
A new fucking hole burned into a heart that knows too much.
"...and I have never cared about what you have to say."
Maybe not Dave. But I always cared about what YOU had to say.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 04:57 pm (UTC)