burnt }} duke x leo
Mar 15, 2018 2:22:38 GMT -5
Post by [nyte] on Mar 15, 2018 2:22:38 GMT -5
Candied apples turn to poison in my palms. Red like her lips used to be. Before an abyss swallowed her whole, until she ceased with exist within the embrace of absolutely nothing. Abandonment requires intent, that I know. So I've really no idea whether I've any right to be as mad as I am. Rage simmering beneath shaking fingers and I've burnt the last three pies settled within the oven's belly. It's all unresolved, hanging in the air with ominous intent. I miss them, I miss my parents. I miss my mom and my dad-
Burning. Bitter, angry scents and I know I've burnt the fourth. "Fuck!" I shout because I know that no one is home to hear. Billie is busy with blood upon her hands and Avriel has worked twelve-hour days for weeks on end now. I'm getting used to it, the dysfunction that comes with being orphans. We're nothing but a broken family now. I think I'm still in mourning. Some sick kind of denial. 'Cause I keep forgetting that my brother won't be home in time to help me with my homework and that Billie has better things to do than remember that I have a chess tournament in two weeks.
I can't get in trouble for swearing. Everyone is too damn busy to care.
Two pies. Five hours of labor and I've managed to turn out two whole pastries. Both made of apples and I know a good number of the folk down the alleys I'm meant to hit hate the taste of cinnamon and spice. Clashes with the liquor that I know has tainted their tongues again and again. And I know what they do is wrong but I have seen the pain rested within their souls. I understand that blades within the skin cannot be cured- only numbed. With illegal substance and blood gone bad from poisonous potions. Tragic, painful truths that I was so ignorant to only a few months ago.
My parents were made of yellow wool, placed firmly over my eyes sewn shut. And I was happy then. So ignorance is better than reality - it is the only solution to this convoluted equation. I'm left scrambling, trying to make sense of it all while leaving flowers blooming in my wake. My ego matters not when there could be bellies full to burst. But ego has ruined this day. I have to halve the portions, pathetic slices of mediocre food that'll fill the belly of no child, let alone a full grown man whose eaten not in three days.
I hate failure.
I feel nothing but shame, walking the streets and handing out containers full of empty shells and sugared lies. I know damn well I'm nothing like I used to be. Sweetness turned sour, boiling like sugar in a stainless steel pan. Speaking to me is like poking a bear with wrought iron and I feel bad for my siblings having had to deal with the storm I have become. With the stranger inhabiting their brother's skin.
All I want is to wake up in the morning with candied apples between my teeth. Just like her lipstick staining my forehead. With cherry pie settled on the kitchen counter and happiness heavy in the pit of my stomach.
I never will.
Their faces are familiar. Fading into the background with every pitiful slice pressed into their palms. Red. Trixie. Mark. Jackson. They slip off of my tongue with smiles as fake as this persona has become. Was I once a little boy with only good intentions? Of course. But I can tell you that he disappeared along with the parents whose graves he has yet to discover.
But her, I don't know her. Without a name or a story attached to silken skin I linger with questions sewn to a tongue that knows better than to ask them. "You're new." So it's not a question, but an observation. "I'm Duke!" Bright, bubbly, a part to play. "I give out pies around here every Thursday so if you ever need some food I'll definitely be around somewhere."
Even the words are rehearsed and tired. I press the pie into he palms and turn to leave. Today is not a day for conversation- not when burns crawl down onto my wrists and my heart is heavy with grief I have yet to fully face. I'll simply place my burdens upon the shoulders of others, dare my tongue be set free tonight.
duke baptiste
{ credit to: zoë }