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The memory of bruises
Of patchwork skin sewn together
By the careful hand of the loving brother
Oh his smile, the blade that never dulls
What once was love
Turned to poison, to poison
Sincere in its martyrdom that is not the death of one
But two, and so is murder
For the greater whole than what smaller
Was fractured and bleeding
Bleeding, oh the blood
That ever floods and god I'm drowning
What is this love?
That was two beings that spoke
But never listened watched
And never saw
The frailties of the perfect being
That shone, oh so bright
And brother would never fail, never fail
But what has he succeeded in
But failure? To cast his brother in the fire
And remade, reforged to make imperfect metal
Out of peerless steel with no impurities
Insists it is to protect, to defend
It is the shape that matters and the purpose
To end, never mind that the blade will break
Will rust and rot and shatter
Like bones that break under pressure
And fine lines on glass that fracture
But the death, oh the death that is murder
But suicide, two for the slaughter
Brother, brother our legacy of traitors
The blood in our veins that hanged
Mother and Father but for their pride
For my pride dear brother
Shall we also join their number?
For murder is never the death of one
Nor treachery without its roots in others
The puppet masters marionettes spinning
Spinning on their shadow strings of silence
Oh not strings but wire and
Don't touch, don't touch for they are sharp
Made from the blades that smile and weep
And god we love so much, so much but that those ties
Make us puppets but that our strength makes us weak
And always the reverse, always the opposites hold true
We chase ourselves in circles muttering 'purpose'
And want and necessity dictates we seek
For we need answers but then we abandon them
And our lives were worthless
A tragedy unparalleled but mirrored
Over and over and over
And it is history with a blade to our throat and a timer
Ticking down the moments to murder
And brother killing brother never mind that neither
Would wield a blade were it not for the other
Oh lord please stop the travesty
Wherein the murderer loves the victim and hates
Hates so strongly they break
Because our strength makes us weak
But our weakness makes us strong
And never, never an answer but death
Cold corpses and words that mean nothing
When they meant everything but too much
Too much and time the fermenter
Breaking down and poking holes
Holes through us that bleed with the lies
The lies weighed for their worth and found wanting
But in other hands tipped the scales until
The results didn't matter and so death
Death and dying and broken bones
Broken homes
And a blade that could be stronger
Funerals for glory never achieved and grieved
Mourned by yet another broken blade
Betrayed
By the misguided and an accident of lies
That took away the chance to be made whole again
Whole again but the opportunity forsaken
For the love that is hate for the broken
To memorialize what is the cruelest perfection
Wherein the beauty is a prayer begging
Begging and pleading for the chance to right itself
To stop the web of lies the thin lines on the ice
And oh the cold depths underneath
To which he is familiar for he has been dragged
And made to burn for the blood in his veins
For the love he bears his victim, his murderer, longing
Longing in wistful hysteria the eyes bleed
Painting the world red and leeching color
To fuel the slaughter to mutilate the laughter
When will it end, when will it end the moment
Stretches to fit the sentiment an error
In logic and perception that freezes
As no other conduit is appropriate
Time does not pass it flies
But doesn't land falls
Falling tumbling screaming
Dragged down down down below
Scrambling to catch hold to hold on until…
Like a dream, a wish, the consolation prize
For a prayer a weapon, a blade
To end cut the strings wrapped around
His ankles- smiles- memories
Torn away to pierce the heart and finally
Finally sleep for one but the other
Can never close his eyes the inheritor
Of the legacy of lies must continue
Never die, never die 'til the purpose
The purpose twisted for other means
Other agendas never to rest
Until the ultimate perversion of nature
Is made to kill another brother
Like a landline holding him strong
He didn't shatter but strength didn't matter
Because it wasn't where it was supposed to be
Killed by treachery and so,
Three graves
Three deaths where none should be
On crosses, hailed as tragedy
Three martyrs
Tied to them by puppet strings and snakes
The hand shakes
And the sutures are torn and to pieces
The needle falls.