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Hung pictures of patron saints up on my wall to remind me that I am a fool.
It had started when Logan took what the other sides had said to him to heart. He didn't mean to hide his emotions, but he knew that if he didn't, things would go downhill. He prayed he wouldn't break down one day, but he also knew that he couldn't last much longer. He knew he wasn't perfect, and the other sides called him out on it, so he tried to make himself perfect. And for him, that started with eating less and becoming the perfect weight.
But it wasn't enough. The other sides still got mad at him for not being silent.
Tell me where I came from, what I will always be, just a spoiled little kid who went to Catholic school.
Logan convinced himself he was in the wrong, and it wasn't them telling him to be quiet when he did so much as inhale to speak. He kept on depriving himself of proper nourishments, and he didn't notice his own slowing down, ignored his stomach growling every time. And the others noticed too, but they didn't pick up on the fact that it was because he wasn't eating properly, they just knew he wasn't functioning right and told him to straighten up (which was impossible for everyone there. Come on, you can't do that when you're gay!) and get faster.
Yet when he tried to do those things in the first place, they got mad at that too. You just can't make some people happy.
When I am dead I won't join their ranks, 'cause they are both holy and free.
Cutting is an addiction. You always want more skin, more pain, more blood, an escape from the real world. It's very hard to get out of the loop of it and recover, but Logan had done it successfully. No one saw the faint scars on his arms; he was good at hiding them, too good. Better than Virgil, and much less open about it.
But everyone goes back to their old habits, everyone relapses. Logan was no exception.
And I'm in Ohio, satanic and chained up, and until the end, that's how it'll be.
Logan dug the razor out after 3 long, painful years of being silenced, and raked the blade across his arm, but it didn't cut deep enough, didn't draw blood. He dragged the metal across the same patch of skin so many times, he lost count. He tore multiple layers of skin but didn't do it too much. He didn't want to lose too much blood, have one of the sides come in and see him unconscious on the floor, risk them finding out.
Not like one of the sides would come in anyway. They didn't care about him, they just relied on him to schedule the events for Thomas.
Blood seeped out of the wound he had made, and he breathed a sigh of relief. After 3 years, he was finally back. He could finally let go of some of his pain.
I said make me love myself so that I might love you, don't make me a liar, 'cause I swear to god, when I said it I thought it was true.
Months passed, and the chain continued. He would release some of the pain of the sides ignoring him or telling him to shut up, the torment of his self-hatred, by putting the blade to his skin and tugging it across. Old and new blended together on his arms, his legs, his chest, his stomach. He made sure to put a very large amount of coverup on so that no one would notice. They wouldn't anyway, since, again, all they wanted from him was calendars.
Nights on end were spent with blood pouring out of wounds, scrubbing the carpet, washing the sheets, cleaning the sink. It never ended.
Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you, but he's got his own things to deal with. There's really just one thing that we have in common; neither of us will be missed.
It was the most recent right where shit went down.
Logan was trying to stay silent, and Roman and Virgil were fighting about something small and stupid again, and Patton, Janus, and Thomas were trying to get them to stop fighting, and Remus was eating deodorant and watching everything happen, as usual. Logan never tried to stop conflict anymore, because everyone would get mad at him.
Saint Bernard sits at the top of the driveway...
Logan was finally fed up. He took a breath and said "Guys, can we please-"
Virgil cut him off and yelled, "Just let it happen, teach."
Logan sighed and tried again. "Please, just stop fighti-"
Patton was the one to stop him this time. "Let them work it out, kiddo, they do this every time."
You always said how you loved dogs...
Logan finally yelled, "PLEASE, WOULD YOU GUYS STOP FIGHTING FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIVES?"
Roman looked at him and snapped, "No! Just let us work it out, nerdy wolverine!"
Remus looked over at him, mortified to see him use one of his beautiful phrases. "Don't use my sentences!" he screeched.
What he most certainly did not say was "Don't talk to Logan like that".
I don't know if I count...
Logan yelled back, "HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT THAT KEEPING UP A GOOD FRIENDSHIP ISN'T EASY WHEN YOU HAVE CONFLICTS ALL THE TIME?"
Roman glared at him. "FRIENDS RESOLVE THEIR CONFLICTS WITH FIGHTS!"
"WELL, I WISH YOU DIDN'T FIGHT! I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID FIGHTS ANYMORE, AND I'M PRETTY SURE NO ONE ELSE DOES EITHER!"
"WELL, I WISH YOU WERE DEAD, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID LOGIC ANYMORE!"
It was dead silent. Everyone stared at Roman in horror, and Roman immediately realized that he had made a huge mistake.
But I'm trying my best....
"W-wait, no, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
But Logan wasn't there to hear it. He was already in his room, the door locked, writing the note he had always longed to write, but never had the courage to.
He tied the noose to the hook on the ceiling and slipped his neck into it. Finally, sweet release from this stupid world.
He hoped Roman would be happy to know he got his wish.
When I'm howling and barking these songs.