my own leper messiah
i made the mistake of talking about it.
and then i had to go and think about it, too.
it's like losing the thing you were most scared of and wanted the most anyway, the thing that hurt so good it was worth screaming for. or like wanting to go out there and find him so bad i can't sleep at night and then realizing i was dreaming about him, awake, and knowing in real life he'd tell me to fuck off if i found him. or maybe knowing he wouldn't, and being afraid of that, too. because dean said disappointing your brother is a reason to drink, and yeah. he's right. what've i done for anyone to be proud of?
i'm a junkie whore. people love that. they love dragging an animal like me out into their lives and saying 'look, look how much more fucked up he is than us.' they think it makes a difference. i play the humiliation game for them but it's just words. i've seen my brother blow me a kiss as they wheeled me off for shocks and then cry, holding me in his arms, when he could break down and no one would see. when he could let me be strong for him because he had to watch them do that to me. you think calling me a whore hurts me? fuck you.
but i've kinda learned in all the mandatory rehab and the therapy and the community service for trashed rooms and broken restaurant chairs and blown-up amplifiers and burned stages, i think the only time i like myself is when i'm so fucked up i don't recognize me. these two can do that. it's been civil so far, straight up for cash, i'm the little go-between fucktoy they fight over. i can dig it.
see, i know i'm a freak. i don't care. but i can't take anyone telling me it was wrong and i need help and i need jesus to save me. call me a freak; call me a whore; beat me, fuck me, i'm such a slut i'll even like it. i'll even beg for it. sometimes but just watch what happens if you tell me i'm going to hell for loving him. i shoot up. i drink like a fuckin' fish. cuss like a goddamned sailor. i abuse myself and i could give a shit less about other people. i'll go to hell for that, for all of it, but not for loving him.
not for hating him, either.
and not for looking for someone/anyone who can hurt me like he can.
and then i had to go and think about it, too.
it's like losing the thing you were most scared of and wanted the most anyway, the thing that hurt so good it was worth screaming for. or like wanting to go out there and find him so bad i can't sleep at night and then realizing i was dreaming about him, awake, and knowing in real life he'd tell me to fuck off if i found him. or maybe knowing he wouldn't, and being afraid of that, too. because dean said disappointing your brother is a reason to drink, and yeah. he's right. what've i done for anyone to be proud of?
i'm a junkie whore. people love that. they love dragging an animal like me out into their lives and saying 'look, look how much more fucked up he is than us.' they think it makes a difference. i play the humiliation game for them but it's just words. i've seen my brother blow me a kiss as they wheeled me off for shocks and then cry, holding me in his arms, when he could break down and no one would see. when he could let me be strong for him because he had to watch them do that to me. you think calling me a whore hurts me? fuck you.
but i've kinda learned in all the mandatory rehab and the therapy and the community service for trashed rooms and broken restaurant chairs and blown-up amplifiers and burned stages, i think the only time i like myself is when i'm so fucked up i don't recognize me. these two can do that. it's been civil so far, straight up for cash, i'm the little go-between fucktoy they fight over. i can dig it.
see, i know i'm a freak. i don't care. but i can't take anyone telling me it was wrong and i need help and i need jesus to save me. call me a freak; call me a whore; beat me, fuck me, i'm such a slut i'll even like it. i'll even beg for it. sometimes but just watch what happens if you tell me i'm going to hell for loving him. i shoot up. i drink like a fuckin' fish. cuss like a goddamned sailor. i abuse myself and i could give a shit less about other people. i'll go to hell for that, for all of it, but not for loving him.
not for hating him, either.
and not for looking for someone/anyone who can hurt me like he can.