Destroying Something Beautiful

 

The wind blows your raven hair around and it brushes your shoulders. You always liked it that length, but now it's covering your view of the full moon.

To Dad, Mom and Frankie

To Nick and Kev

To Georg (did I spell it right?) and Gustav

To Tom, Dear Tom

To everyone who loved me

To everyone who loved him

To everyone who loved us

Somewhere close by a police siren sounds off. You want to see it, but all you see are the tops of buildings and you daren't look down, lest you lose your nerve. No matter, there'll be plenty police sirens singing your bodies to the morgue.

I want you all to hate me. I don't want your sympathy, nor do I want your sorrow. If anything, mourn for the beautiful boy I loved and took away from you.

You chest stings from the fresh scar you made a few minutes ago. Blood pours from the letters carved in your flesh. You're lucky his name was short, otherwise it wouldn't have fit the space over your heart.

How does it feel, Tom? Does it make you angry to know his last breath, his last gaze, his last fuck, was mine? Yeah, I'm unhinged, but you need to be pretty fucked-up to do your own twin brother, so I guess we're pretty much the same.

You remember the fear that was etched across his seemingly angelic face just before the lights of his eyes went out. His skin was as always, smooth like marble and just as unfeeling as it writhed beneath your fingers. If only Tom had been there - you'd have done him in too.

It your fault I'm doing this. You left me, Tom. Why? Was I not enough to satisfy you? Why desert me when you both knew how much I loved you guys?

Tom's name is also on your chest, just below your nipple. You remember the way it was when the three of you were alone together. It was always fun to watch the identical beauties as you fought against going insane. And when they touched you - Dear God!

Your mind goes back to the body you left in the hotel room. You remember ripping his thighs apart and pumping yourself into him before the rigor mortis set in. You were sobbing, kissing the stone lips as you lost your virginity completely. You finally fucked him and you fucked him hard. Tom would have been so proud and maybe he'd finally enter you. Then the three of you would finally be one; you'd finally be complete.

But it was just you, empty and horny. One twin on the other side of the city, the other beneath you, dead to you in more ways than one.

To Gustav and Georg - I'm sorry guys. Sorry I took your lead singer, but I'm sure the last thing you're thinking about are your careers. Personally, I admire you guys, constant exposure to this beautiful demon and you're as sane as ever. But I'm not so strong. I need him, and his brother. I'm nothing without them, they made fucking sure of that. Oh, and that present I left behind? Keep it. I don't need it where I'm going.

You can imagine the long-haired bassist howling in agony, tears falling dwon shamelessly as he makes for the body. Gustav holding him back. As always, the drummer appears calm, but you can see his bulky form shaking and tears oozing from his small eyes. oozing and spreading like the red stain across your white skinnies. Shit, you're losing a lot of blood. You wonder how they found your 'present', wrapped up and bloodied in a soiled napkin that you placed near the letter. It was a small chunk, though you tried to cut it off completely.

You were shaking as you pulled yourself out of him, disgusted at yourself. You didn't deserve to live, didn't deserve to have that organ. You had reached for the sharpest thing you could find; a butter knife, still coated in dried-up butter. You had grabbed it from its place on the tray while you held the limp flesh in your sticky fist. Tears threatened to make themselves visible and blurred your vision as you raised your weapon, trembling violently. With shut eyes, you brought it down. Nothing. You tried again. Mere bruises. Frantically you began to saw at the meat until it was off. You stared at the dismembered head and the blood now gushing from between you before reality sunk in.

Since then you've gone paler, having passed out several times on your way here. Even now you can feel your legs about to give away and all you can hear is slowly turning into static.

Kev, Nick, what do you think of your brother now? So much for the three musketeers, huh? Sorry guys, but you can't say you didn't see this coming: I'm not exactly the same guy Iwas about a year ago. It's almost like I'm 9 again - but I was then what I am now. This is me, ok? Tell Mom and Dad I'm sorry.

Your parents are probably frozen in shock, eyes transfixed on your dog tags hanging around the stiffened corpse, your promise ring also threaded around the silver chain. It was his now, your lover's, because it had always been from the moment you had spoken to him. It belonged to Tom too, you hope he realises that. Just as your soul belongs to them - but of course you only have half a soul now.

Kevin and Nick are probably shrieking louder than Georg, probably running up to the corpse. They knew your dog tag. They knew your 'present' - they'd seen you naked enough times.

You didn't address your parents directly - you were still too ashamed of everything you had done, still afrais of their inevitable rejection as you had been 10 years ago.

And Frankie - you didn't acknowledge him at all, for you knew your parents would brainwash him: make the mention of your name taboo, burn your birth records and give Kev and Nick solo careers for the world to focus on. In time, you'd be forgotten and Frankie will grow up under the pretence that he only had two older brothers. A single tear escaped from you eye.

I guess this is goodbye, now. I hope you don't fuss too much about my funeral - just a little family affair, hot naked women included. Or should I say hot naked men? Ha ha I'm getting ahead of myself.

You smile, thinking of how ballsy it was of you to be cracking trademark jokes at this hour.

Do whatever you want to my body, but, please, spare his. Give him a grand funeral back in Loitsche - he'd like that. Lots of sparkles and glitter, put his photo in every available space and see if you can invite Boy George (inside joke - Tom will understand). I don't suppose you want his fans there - they might just rape the corpse!

You laugh at the irony of what you had written. Raping corpses! You used to look down on necrophiliacs, but now you understand: their cold touch is nothing like the warm embrace of the living, but Death is sometimes the only way to claim your love forever. Your only regret is that you won't be around for his funeral - you have such fantastic ideas for his last performance. You hope at least that they don't bury him - such would be a crime to let time ravage his beauty.

You hear something behind you. Fuck, someone's coming, you can hear their heavy footsteps clamouring the stairs. You panic. It's too soon, but you have no choice.

Like I said, hate me. Detest me. Loathe me. But whatever you do, don't try to save me. Maybe one day, when you guys die and make it to Heaven, you can tell God all about me. He's turned his back on me so long ago I doubt he knows what I've been up to recently.

Goodbye Mom

Goodbye Dad

The footsteps are getting louder. The sounds of cars and horns and sirens are escalating. The cacophony is so loud, you imagine your ears bursting, waterfalls of blood falling the treacherous height.

Goodbye Georg (no really, is this the spelling?)

Goodbye Gustav

Goodbye Nick

Goodbye Kevin

Goodbye, sweet, little Frankie

The footsteps have stopped. They've reached you, whoever they are. They can pull you off the ledge and drag you downstairs. It's not too late for a blood transplant, they can still save you. But you can't be saved! It's too late. You can hear them calling for you. High pitched, like their voice is breaking. In a moment of sanity, you contemplate your choice:

No, it's not too late. You can be true to yourself now, you can come out without fear. Sure your parents will abhor you, but that's what you've always wanted, right?

They'll send you to prison and you'll get raped and stabbed and punched, but violence was fucking foreplay with the twins and you can finally release all that promise ring shit and become the dirty whore you've always been. And when you've served your sentence, you could move to Germany just to give Tom a taste of Hell.

And you'd be free.

If you could just respond to the stranger's call, if you could just turn around, and reach for their hand...

You legs buckle. It's too late, they can no longer carry your weight without blood. You wobble dangerously before plummeting. Suddenly, the reds and oranges of the city lights below you turn to fire, reaching out for you and licking the air greedily. You can feel their heat, scorching your heels, singeing your hair.

You can't hear damned thing besides the howling wind and it's laughing at you. No, that's no wind.

Satan. He's laughing at his newest guest

.

What a fool you were to turn from God!

See you in Hell, Tom. Bill and I are waiting.

You can't look at this any longer. You turn your head to the stars. They are the last thing you see before you land on the pavement, lifeless. The ground feels solid, painfully so. Yellowish goo pours out your nose and ears. You feel so much pain that your stomach seems to be on fire and you choke on your own vomit. You've stopped breathing. You can't hear the screams and oathes of bystanders, can't see them run and stop and run back to see if it's really who they think it is.

No. You're focused on the stars. They're painted behind your eyelids, against a background of crimson. So vast, so free. As you drift away, the stars shine brighter.

As bright as the twinkle in Bill's eyes.

As warm and comforting as Tom's sturdy arms.

You're finally safe.

Always and forever,

Joe Jonas