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Noon Milk
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The Killpop, the tragedy. Two figures, a sister and brother who can’t escape the cycle of abuse. Each one hurting the other, taking advantage of the other.
He comes upstairs, his face leering from behind his mask. Only to find her again, shooting up with the drugs he gave her. Her skin, once pale and fair, turns ruddy with pox marks and makeup from her trying to hide it. He swallows his disgust and rage at this sight. And something else rises, and his disgust turns inward, hating his own lusts.
She once told him, that when she is high, she can pretend no one hurts her, that she’s loved. In that moment, he can’t help find her beautiful.
He takes her on the floor, hating her, hating himself. He tells herself she’s done the same to him. She doesn’t put up much resistance. After it’s over they lay back to back, exhausted. She can’t feel anything anymore, his head lulls and he realizes he’s crying silent tears. The disgust makes bile rise in his throat. But in the end, perhaps they were meant for this.
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