Sometimes, when loneliness is in me
I go inside me
And then love me
And tell me
That I need me
I need me to kiss me
To hold me
To want me
But I want to kill me
Because I love me
And it's what I want.
They threw me in here, in this room. All white, so quiet.
I hurt America, my brother, that's why. Because he called me Marv.
MY NAME ISN'T MARV.
It's Matthew. My name is Matthew. So I told him that. And I made sure he never forgot.
I wonder… have the scars gone away? I wonder if he can see out of his left eye again… I feel bad that his eyes got in the way.
But I ran out of room for my "w". And the scissors were getting too slippery with blood.
"Canada… come here… I just wanted to see how you were. Bruder said you finally snapped. He told me you stabbed America, and Italy, and even France, your dad, at the conference because America called you another name and nobody corrected him. Wow… you look so scary. So nuts. If that's the case… then this'll be so friggin easy."
I'm bored. It's white, without any red to comfort me and remind me of home.
I wish I had some sort of comfort now.
"Matthew… oh, God, Matthew…"
Russia taught me this trick, when he came to visit me. Do you want to see? Okay, I'll show you! It's really easy…
"Stop smiling. You look like you fucking enjoy it. Little slut…"
Close your eyes.
Think of your bed.
"Dirty little slut…"
And you're there- I'm there, back in my room, in Montreal.
"Stop struggling. It's getting annoying."
Think of the person you love the most.
Then abuse them until they die.
I do that, just like Russia taught me- and he's here.
But I don't want to abuse him- I want him to abuse me. I'm a bitch that deserves it. Prussia told me that.
But he's not here anymore- no. Canada comes closer, and licks my cheek, driving me away from thoughts of white hair and vermillion eyes. From screams and begs for release, for mercy…
I am never shown any mercy.
His eyes are blood red, and dilated with madness- madness that built inside him like a tower of blocks, until it all just… fell.
I shudder and choke as he grips my throat, sucking and biting at my neck until I bleed. The lack of air makes my blood rush, and it makes me moan in need. He laps it up like maple syrup, so sweet and sticky.
He smiled sweetly, sticky, blood a ring around his mouth. He held up his hand, a hand that was clenched. He was holding something. "They're so yummy," He told me, pulling me into his lap.
I shiver when he moves his hand to my lower back, pressing softly, exactly where I wanted his hand to be. He was me, after all. Canada knew what I wanted.
"Have one, Mattie… Alfred made them just for you, eh."
My violet eyes flash behind my glasses. "I don't-!" I begin, my voice but a whisper.
But no. He's not holding hamburgers. He's holding something so much tastier…
Will Alfred miss it?
The blue iris is faded, but that's alright. That's not the best part about the meal my sweet big brother made me. I'll thank him, when I get out.
Canada has it on a fork now, his lips curled into a disturbed, childish smile as I open my mouth wide, my tongue lolling out like a lifeless body.
Canada shivers. "Oh, Matthew, you're so beautiful… go on. Eat it. Eat America's eyes. They must taste so good… let me have some too, eh…?"
The round organ falls into my mouth, the jelly squishing between my teeth as I chew. It tastes like blood. It makes my body heat up.
This was what it was like to be insane, I realized.
Why wasn't everyone like this? Sanity was so pathetic. It meant living, forced to be with people, forced to work and talk.
Insanity is so much better.
They keep appearing on the fork, an endless buffet for me and Canada. He kept purring my (our) name.
"Oh, Mattie… Mattie, Mattie, Mattie…"
"Mattie- that was his name. Ah, shit… His name was Mattie…"
"Relax. You'll reopen the cuts."
"I can't… Mattie… I forgot my little brother…"
Then Canada kisses me. Roughly, with our teeth clacking painfully. It feels so perfect. Our tongues roll against the other, pushing and fighting like wild beasts. He wanted all the blood in my mouth. I wanted his taste.
Heh. Maple syrup. What do you know?
I reach for his clothes, ripping them like they were paper- they might as well have been. I had no time to fool with cotton jackets. Neither did he.
Soon, we were both without any clothes, naked as they day we were born.
I wonder when this version of me was born. Perhaps when I had to suffer England's abuse? His, "oh, you aren't America, my apologies", the downright neglect. Or was it when I became the thing to break- to abuse when no one was looking?
But it doesn't matter now. He's born. And he can't die. He won't die, because I refuse to let him.
Not until I do first.
He forces his fist into my mouth, bringing tears to my eyes and choking sounds at the back of my throat. I grip his arm and try to pull his hand out, but no- Canada won't stop. His grin grows, and his eyes lower until only a bit of ruby could be seen.
I whimper pathetically, begging for him to stop, yet pleading for him to do his worst.
I'm glad he's the real me- because he removes his hand, and shoves me down. Our flag was hanging above my bed, I remember. He rips it of the wall, ripping it to shreds and using it to tie my hands up.
I feel fear, then sadistic pleasure at the situation.
It was fitting.
"Canada… hurry up and hurt me, eh." I beg, lifting my hips up to grind against him.
He gasps and purrs in delight, and grabs my leg, spreading it slowly, savoring the look in my eyes. The utter madness of the violet orbs. He slips one finger inside me, giggling at the sharp gasp I give. It hurts, but it's not the pain I wanted.
That is something he gives right afterward, when he shoves two more fingers inside me at once.
"AH! IT HURTS!" I scream (which is barely above a normal voice for most people), thrashing about and trying to get away. But I didn't want to; it was for Canada, because I knew he wanted to see me struggle. Hot tears roll down my face, burning my skin like acid.
Canada laughs crudely. "Eh, you're bleeding and crying, Mattie! Awesome!"
I see white hair for a moment, and I think, for a second, I was back in reality.
But no. I'm back. Back in my dream.
I hate me
But want me
Cut up and bloody
So fucking rape me
And torture me
Because you and me
But want to FUCKING KILL ME
He shoves a fourth finger into me, even though we both know I'm stretched enough. He would have taken me bare, but we wanted the pain.
My squeals and sobs don't stop- they gain in volume, my voice hoarse as my insides continue to bleed profusely. But I've already cum, the white fluid is staining Canada's chest, along with more of my blood.
I love it. Every second.
His face falls into a bored expression, so he rakes his nails across my chest, spewing more blood. I gasp, my eyes falling closed. Pain is only a numb thud in my brain now.
But I love it.
"Mattie… I want to kill you so badly…" Canada mumbles, his eyes full of sick, puppy-dog love. "I want to fucking kill you…"
I smile. How sweet. Such loving words were lost on my ears. Maybe I heard wrong, even- maybe he really said, "I love you."
Something love me? Never.
Now he's inside me- he shoved his way in. The blood was an excellent lubricant, something someone else taught me.
But his name isn't going to be said.
It only hurts worse.
"Fuck, Matthew…" Canada breathes as he pushes deeper, his fingers gripping my thighs tightly, until little rivulets of blood poured down them. "You're so beautiful, eh…"
I smile. Beautiful. So was he, wasn't he?
"More…" I breathe, my eyes drifting closed. I felt lighter. My blood was only making me heavier, I think. And I'm losing it all.
He gives me want I want, and moves faster. Slapping of my skin against his rings in empty air, along with my pants and groans, and his growls and grunts.
"F-Faster…" I breathe, grabbing onto the shreds of our flag for dear life, my voice rising as he brushes against a spot inside me that makes me see stars.
He laughs loudly- everything about him is loud. "Fuck! Go ahead, Mattie! Fucking scream at me, eh? Scream!" He cries, laughing madly all the while. He forces himself deeper, stretching where his fingers couldn't reach. "You little shit!"
I sob louder, my voice rising even more.
So he wants to hear my scream?
Fine. I'll scream.
"AAAAAAAAAUGH! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!" I shout into his face, my eyes dilated to tiny amethyst pebbles, my hands ripping free of our flag and flying around his throat, squeezing tightly.
"I HATE YOU!"
He laughs more, and speeds up. "That's right, Matthew! You hate me! You hate me so much you want to fucking kill me! Do it! Kill me! Oh God, keep screaming like that!"
I scream louder and louder, until my throat scratches itself raw. I start to gag on the blood (who knew I had so much?) my breaths spitting out red fluid like a fountain, or a cut artery. My hands never leave his throat, squeezing so tightly.
"I HATE YOU!"
"Ksesese… I know, Mattie. I know."
Then he cums with a shout of my name, and it's all over. I see white again, and it makes me want to hurl.
Because, in the end, as I lay here in my white cell, tears pouring down my face like a beaten puppy as an owner of vermillion leaves, I know it wasn't me.
If it was me, I would have told me I loved me. I wouldn't have hurt me in this room, forcing me to envision myself doing it instead of someone else.
With the real me, I'm in my mind.
Without me, I'm out it.
Get rid of me
Hide my body
Go on "Me"
Where nobody can find me
Because you and me
And I'm crazy
So are you, you see
We're both crazy
And I fucking love it.
This was incredibly disturbing for me to write.
Now, I could explain to you the whole situation. But like Inception, I'm going to let you decide.
I just have one hint tho.
If you've seen the movie, then this makes perfect sense.
This is for someone on Deviantart. I'll be posting it there, so… yeah… wish me luck. This'll be the first smut I post. XD
Another thing- Snapped!Canada kicks ASS. No, and I mean NO exceptions.
And one last thing- that's not a song in parenthesis, that's a poem. That I wrote. Called "Moi Meme". "Myself".