Twin, Succumb to My Lonesome Blood
I heard you in the chamber next door, you cursed my mother. Your tongue claimed her impotent.
The earth has blessed you with your passing.
The earth has cursed me.
The first murderer became one because of a sibling
The first murderer became one because of lack
The first murderer became one because of the creator
The first murderer became one because of the creation
Twin
Have I lost you, or did you lose me? Did you lose to me?
I fear that before I overruled the mother’s womb, your hands matured before mine, and like a tree branch, your touch to my lips was that of deliverance. I fear I have not only bitten the hand that fed me, but also seized that intimate moment of survival and mistook my greed for a heart. You slipped from my reach, though you are likely praised in the safety of this path.
I fear that I have become a vessel of treason to you the moment you were a vessel of nourishment and generosity to me. I fear that to feed myself as you surrender inside my frame reminds you of the original betrayal. I fear that you turn true blue and no one can tell.
To be created in pairs is but a profane curse dwelling upon me. A birth existing in binary discloses a horror of existence: The twin cannot be whole; they were born in duos for a reason; the soul was not worthy of a full-fledged vessel. Though my birth was natural, I never was. I am a bearer of two machines inside me.
Sometimes, I would like for you to overcome me, like Jacob did with Esau. The youngest twin overcame the oldest- the heir, and won his birthright. I sometimes wish you consumed me before my lips felt the nether of yours, and then your fingertips merged with mine. The world has attained two murderers in one.
I wondered if God has chosen me as he chose Jacob. Though the faulty reason was the ungodliness of Esau, I am more him than I am Jacob. I contemplated if I had been chosen.
I was not chosen. I forced myself in and governed the battlefield that you never took part of. God did not choose me. God did not bless me. God plagued me. For I am neither this nor that, and I am not in between, not transcending, and I am not holy. I am half a star, a star that stole double its light from the sun yet still cannot be voyaged upon as mortals seek the vast sky.
I often awake from my slumber and climb to unlock the window. I position myself before the moonlight as it blesses my running tears with silver diamonds. But diamond tears are still tears, and the window to the unknown outside is my haven. A pseudo sanctuary that I’ve used since your departure for I cannot let myself flow and eventually sink in between the rivers of tears my bedroom would become of. I must know if you cry through me.
The ancestors of my ancestors must have prophesized this: We are the children of the first murderer. The stage of almost-life in that womb already made me conquer death. If life has barely sprung, can death be called death? And is life life? What were we? Can that stage make of you a companion? Were you ever truly a twin? Yet, I have heard your thundering heartbeats, but my consumption of you echoed inside the walls of this sustaining grave till you were no longer of any perception.
I have not left this hall in so long for I fear the outside world might wither me as I you. I fear to bleed from a single pore and your remaining blood finds escape, like a colonized land. Twin, I fear our blood has not truly merged and instead I am made of two waters, in complete and total contradictions. Twin, I fear losing you again by my rusted hands.
Losing you meant my flesh was to be slashed and my soul splattered. We were the thunder and storm that is distinguishable yet mistaken as one another. I forced my lightning on you, however, and there was not an image of one flowing leaf that night. Your flowless wing conferred me an empyrean sky.
You are the light in the water I bathe in. The status of my existence is bound to the dearth of yours. I can never unlock the potential of my body for you will eternally be imprisoned, and such a weight can only bring forth a fatigue that shrinks my frame to inferiority.
But your flesh was too soft, too piercing. You could have shot me before I devoured you whole. Resistance and decency have only worked for your loss, twin. I know not if I am talking to you or to me. Are you me, or am I you?
Who is the original human out of the both of us?
Must we face that we were never valuable to be created integral.
I wish we had more time.
Chances never granted me the knowledge of the kind of twin I could be- could have been.
Or perhaps, the fact that I never will paints me as exactly the kind of twin I am.
