Nothing good ever comes from lurking around in the dark. Nothing good ever comes from being around when things aren’t… when things aren’t so stable. Is Max stable? Is Max sane? Is there anything in his head that’s working right at this hour? Who was he to know? Who was he to be aware that this was where he needed to be and what he needed to be doing? He didn’t. There were so many questions. He was asking himself over and over and over, and maybe he was starting to answer himself too. That was the only time it was dangerous. That was the only time he was in trouble.
What a lie. What a laugh. When was Max ever more than he needed to be? Answer: never. He was always exactly what he needed from himself. Maybe that was why he stood here now, amongst the trees, a shadow of something that could possibly be. Things are strange. He loves those things. Max is brilliant in that way. He is slender and slight, beautiful, where he stands beneath the filtering light of a barely there moon. Max is barely there. That’s the point. That’s the point of him, ever. Be there, and then be gone. He loves that aspect.
Leave. When day breaks, leave. Leave when the sun starts to come up, or even just before. It’s safer for him then. It’s safer to leave at night, crash out somewhere during the day. Don’t come back. Don’t come to the same place twice. Never. Never enter the same place twice, because that meant you were developing habits. Habits make you lazy. Habits get you killed, or worse. Or worse than that. Anything was worse than that. There was a fate worse than death, and Max had seen it. He hates it. He hates it almost as much as he hates himself, but he’d never tell anyone that. Brash and brilliant. That’s all he ever needs.
So through the darkness he cuts like a knife. No one would see him unless they tried real hard, or unless they picked up the sound of his fleet feet on grass. Tossing head, rolling eyes, and something more than that. The guardian of splendor, he would be. That's all he’d be tonight. Guardian of splendor. He likes that well enough. Max, tonight, is beautiful and disgusting in equal measures.
He’s never not beautiful. He’s never not in awe of himself and the things he’s created, the things he’s done to people. He’d travel the world and make sure everyone knew his name, only to leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake. That was his design. He needed things like that to keep him in one piece. He needed the nights that were… the nights that were like this. Lure in someone with his looks and his heart, show them what he had to offer… yeah.
And he hates himself. Disgusting. Everything is disgusting, and he’s here because he hates himself. He’s here because he hates how much he needs the company and needs the touch of someone else and how damn dependent he is on the tricks he turns. He is not vulnerable, he’s something else. He’s something way different. Max is a creature that’s stealing hearts to keep in glass jars. Maybe he likes looking at them because he believes he doesn’t have one himself. Maybe he’s hiding.
At least Max isn’t scared.
MAX
and i will die all alone |