Brothers on a Hotel Bed

I taste your mouth, Tom. Tell me what I'm doing fucking my own twin brother. What I'm doing enjoying his body, why I enjoy it so much. Of all the fake Barbie's on earth, of all the plastic pretty faces, I'm the one who was always close to you. I always had you in one way or the other, used you to fulfill my fucked up fantasies.

When I told you I was gay, why didn't you run screaming to mom about what a freak I was like the rest of them. I remember you picked me up 2 years ago when I was bleeding on the bathroom floor, and you looked down, and you looked back up again and you said,

"I understand Bill, and I still love you." You said that, and the world was perfect. They preached all they wanted but they couldn't save me, I was just the way the doctor made me. You made me sick, prettyboy, but you made me love being ill.

And why didn't you squirm away the first time I had my hands around your hips when I was on a shitload of pills, beckoning, begging for you to come closer. Were you afraid? Of what I could do to you if you didn't do as I said. Why didn't you push me away the first time we locked lips, like angry wildcats pleading for entrance, piercings clinking and teeth scraping.

But then you realised how much I needed you, and what you could do to me. And now I'm lying with a guy who beat me every second, when he felt like it. He gave me all his hopeless hearts. He could humiliate me yet make me feel so dignified. Who only hurt me by making me hurt myself.

It's disgusting but yet it's beautiful. You're terrible, Tom, but you're perfect. Manhandle me in any way you choose and throw me away again for as long as you want. You'll never make me leave, I'll wear this on my sleeve. I want you to want me to want you, I always will.