Work Text:
You look at his composed and self-complacent face:
you are bereft, you have no strength to bear the loss.
You reached your personal zugzwang and there's no way
to turn back time or win the toss.
He thinks he knows you as he knows his mind,
planned all the steps ahead and won the prize...
The truth is that the pendulum has swung,
the scales fell off your tired eyes.
"I was in love with you when you had been a lie.
I cannot hate you now that all the masks are off...
You broke me down and frankensteined my heart
into a thing that is incapable of love.
While playing God you smashed to pieces
my self-awareness, my dignity, my self,
you robbed me of my chance for peace
and made my life a living hell..."
Your hands are shaking, but the gun's on point.
He's not afraid, though isn't coming closer:
he doesn't think that you would disappoint,
but you can't help but feel like such a loser.
You know what his design is and the odds:
your life turned into "what-if"s, and "if only"s.
Your brain was caught on fire, left to rot –
your head is full of agony and horrors.
"I am the only one, who sees you to the bone,
I am your perfect enemy and mirror.
I could have been your perfect friend or beau...
But I'm a walking dead, consumed by fear.
I could've been a reflection of your biggest dreams –
the only one who'd understand your thoughts and vision,
your consort, mate, accomplice or sidekick...
But all these "maybe"s are just fiction..."
There's nothing you are left with but yourself:
you are a failure and an ultimate reward.
You cannot kill him, cannot put him in a cell:
can't be his executioner or warden.
You raise the gun and put it to your own head.
He looks uncertain, though just seemed so smug and eager...
"I'm sorry I'm not sorry..." is the last thing that you say.
You look at him and smile. And pull the trigger.
11/02/2026