Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > some say the world will end in fire..
some say the world will end in fire..
2 reviews.. others in ice. but I believe I'm my own self destruct button.
1Insightful
[ a/n pulls hair out okay, so yeah. my shift key won't work. please please please don't assume i have bad grammar, and i don't know how to capitalize properly, ebcause i /do/. both shift keys and my capslock have become stuck for some reason, and though my parents are buying me a new keyboard soon, i can't fix the capitalization on this until i do, as i don't have word on my computer.
after my long rant, enjoy 8D ]
i don't know why i'm bothering to write all this down. i have too much in my head and i guess i need to get it all out. i'd put some sort of warning at the start, telling anyone who reads this bunch of crap will have a five foot something psycho come after them with a bass guitar and a gun, but i don't know why anyone would be reading this, unless they wanted to get a good laugh out of me.
joe said that writing all this down was supposed to be good for me. good my ass, i'm feeling worse than ever, realising just how fucked up i actually am. i can't communicate with anyone. i'm getting more and more into this rut that i built, and i can't get out. i don't know who i can confide in, and when i do i don't have a clue what to say. i've written countless letters, to my parents, to my friends, to my sister, but none of it ever makes sense to me. it's all a bunch of fake crap, ad i i'm trying to pretend i'm not as bad as i really am.
i've already cried two times since i started writing this, and i haven't even filled up half a page.
i'm getting further and further away from everyone i know. i don't have a clue what's happening, but everyone's moving on and it's as if i've got superglue stuck to my shoes keeping me from getting myself out of this place. keeping me back with a long line of failures. no-one can ever fail quite like me though. there should be a whole new word made up for me.
i can't cope with this anymore. my whole life is in shambles around me, and i'm trying hard to keep up, but everything's changing and i don't think i like it. i just want to switch my brain off for a few hours, take a break from my life. i want to have fun, i want to smile and laugh like everyone else does, but my facial features just won't connect with my brain. i'm not even in control of my body anymore, let alone myself, or my life.
joe called. he asked if i wanted to go and play soccer with him, an i said no,. i'm so unbelievably stupid, i should have said yes, but as silly as it sounds i don't want to leave the safety of my home, and go out, where everyone can judge me, and say they know how i'm feeling. they don't have a clue. nobody does.
joe called again. he seems worried, and i don't blame him. i'm glad that i have someone to be worried for me, but i know it's just time before he move on, and forgets about me. i hoped i was unforgettable, but i guess it's not so hard anymore to forget me. i'm hardly here, i don't eat, just drink, and smoke, and wish someone could come and take control of my life for me, for the better or the worse.
he wants me to meet this kid. i nearly flung the phone down. i nearly did, but i didn't. his name is patrick, or so that's what joe said. he's really cool apparently, and a great listener,. he can help me. that's when i flung down the phone, and stood on it, until it splintered between my feet. i left it on the floor, staring at the discarded pieces for a few seconds, before kicking them under the sofa, and walking upstairs.
there's an unfamiliar number ringing on my cell pone, and as soon as i use up all of my energy, and pick the phone up, i can tell it's patrick. he has an enchanting voice, it's so soft and smooth, it makes me want to listen to it forever. is this pete, he asks, and i nod foolishly, before realizing he can't see me. my voice is scratchy, and barely there, but he seems to hear me,. he begins to talk, and i begin to listen.
i stay on the phone with him for two hours, before he has to go, his dinner's ready. when eh hangs up, i clasp the cell phone to my chest, and thank god he'd made someone like patrick stump.
i'm scared now. scared of myself. it's quite ridiculous really, but suddenly there's al this frustration and anger in me, and i want to hit something. i don't, i just pinched my sides so hard when i pulled my top up five minutes later, there was angry bruises either side of my ribs, purple-ish black, angry and big. they hurt now, everytime i breath, and i contemplate giving up on breathing so the pain would go away, but i can't. i'm not just talking about the pain of the bruise, i'm talking about the pain of my entire life. it's like one big bruise, one that's not going away anytime soon.
my hands keep balling into fists, as though i'm about to punch someone, and when i finally do end up punching something, it's the mirror in the bathroom, and shards fly everywhere. one is lodged right above my eyebrow, and blood is oozing it's way slowly down into my eyes, but i don't know whether it's the blood that's making my vision blur. my hands are bleeding as well, there's tiny cuts all around the knuckle's trickling slightly with blood. i stare at the mess i've made, and a sob rises up in my throat, but i force it down, as i carefully pick up all the glass shards, one of two getting themselves lodged in the fleshy part at the very top of my fingers, but i ignore it. once they're all in a black bin bag i fling it out of my window, and out onto the street, closing my window before the annoyed cries reach my ears.
i stare at fascination at the small shard that's still in me. it's ridiculously tiny, but i don't know whether to pull it out, or keep it in, so i phone up patrick to ask him. my voice is wobbly and shaky as i told him what i'd done [well, okay, i told him that i'd accidentally broken the mirror, but still] and eh said he'd come over right away,. joe must have told him the address, cause i never did, but i heard the shrieking of tires outside a few minutes later, and there's hurried knocking at the door, almost as if i'm about to die. i told him it was tiny. it's nice he cares though. nearly made me cry again.
in case you're reading this patrick, you are the most beautiful person i've ever seen, even more beautiful than your voice. you seem so in control of your life, you're there, certain, confident and so ready to help that i swear i started to cry, but i can't be sure, my memory's rather foggy lately. you seemed willing to take control of me as well, like an older brother or something, and i can't be thankful enough to you.
you said i might need stitches, but i hate hospital, and the way i disagreed venomously must have made you surprised. as lovely as you are patrick, take me to a hospital and i'll write you out of my will, for sure. it was only a tiny piece of glass anyway i tell you, my voice scratchy, and you shrug. you look at me as though you want to protect me form anything bad in the world, and if you do that i'll be yours forever. but you don't. you nod, and fix me something to drink in my own home, ignoring the state of the floor than i haven't cleaned up in what must be a couple of months now, before mumbling a goodbye, and leaving me.
i watch you leave in the doorway, me body slumped against the doorframe as you clamber into your shiny car. when you wave at me, my face lights up slightly, and i wave back, but you drive away faster than i would have liked. i must have scared you away. i'm sorry. i hate myself too. i don't know who i've become. i don't like me anymore. i'm a total stranger to myself, i'm so fucked up in the head it's unbelievable, and i've just started crying again. the inks all running, and i'm blowing on it so i can still read my garbled venting, and i think it worked, but i can't stop the tears anymore. i need to get some sleep. i need to do something other than muse about my feelings.
until another day when i'm feeling like shit.
pete x
i can't stand this at all. it's like there's this monster inside of me, building up, ready to let rip out on everyone. i don't think i can stop it, it's fuelled by anger and frustration and i just keep giving it more and more and more.
i ran my nails all the way down my arm, so i actually felt something without doing anything stupid, anything i know i'll regret
i just want to feel human again.
pete x
[ please read and review, it'd make my day. i've not finished yet, no way near, so you'll have to put up with me for much longer, ha. i have a load of ideas but you want anything in particular to happen in this story? feel free to include it in a review, and i might just think about it.
constructive crits are welcome as well [:
credits to robert frost for the title ^^ ]
after my long rant, enjoy 8D ]
i don't know why i'm bothering to write all this down. i have too much in my head and i guess i need to get it all out. i'd put some sort of warning at the start, telling anyone who reads this bunch of crap will have a five foot something psycho come after them with a bass guitar and a gun, but i don't know why anyone would be reading this, unless they wanted to get a good laugh out of me.
joe said that writing all this down was supposed to be good for me. good my ass, i'm feeling worse than ever, realising just how fucked up i actually am. i can't communicate with anyone. i'm getting more and more into this rut that i built, and i can't get out. i don't know who i can confide in, and when i do i don't have a clue what to say. i've written countless letters, to my parents, to my friends, to my sister, but none of it ever makes sense to me. it's all a bunch of fake crap, ad i i'm trying to pretend i'm not as bad as i really am.
i've already cried two times since i started writing this, and i haven't even filled up half a page.
i'm getting further and further away from everyone i know. i don't have a clue what's happening, but everyone's moving on and it's as if i've got superglue stuck to my shoes keeping me from getting myself out of this place. keeping me back with a long line of failures. no-one can ever fail quite like me though. there should be a whole new word made up for me.
i can't cope with this anymore. my whole life is in shambles around me, and i'm trying hard to keep up, but everything's changing and i don't think i like it. i just want to switch my brain off for a few hours, take a break from my life. i want to have fun, i want to smile and laugh like everyone else does, but my facial features just won't connect with my brain. i'm not even in control of my body anymore, let alone myself, or my life.
joe called. he asked if i wanted to go and play soccer with him, an i said no,. i'm so unbelievably stupid, i should have said yes, but as silly as it sounds i don't want to leave the safety of my home, and go out, where everyone can judge me, and say they know how i'm feeling. they don't have a clue. nobody does.
joe called again. he seems worried, and i don't blame him. i'm glad that i have someone to be worried for me, but i know it's just time before he move on, and forgets about me. i hoped i was unforgettable, but i guess it's not so hard anymore to forget me. i'm hardly here, i don't eat, just drink, and smoke, and wish someone could come and take control of my life for me, for the better or the worse.
he wants me to meet this kid. i nearly flung the phone down. i nearly did, but i didn't. his name is patrick, or so that's what joe said. he's really cool apparently, and a great listener,. he can help me. that's when i flung down the phone, and stood on it, until it splintered between my feet. i left it on the floor, staring at the discarded pieces for a few seconds, before kicking them under the sofa, and walking upstairs.
there's an unfamiliar number ringing on my cell pone, and as soon as i use up all of my energy, and pick the phone up, i can tell it's patrick. he has an enchanting voice, it's so soft and smooth, it makes me want to listen to it forever. is this pete, he asks, and i nod foolishly, before realizing he can't see me. my voice is scratchy, and barely there, but he seems to hear me,. he begins to talk, and i begin to listen.
i stay on the phone with him for two hours, before he has to go, his dinner's ready. when eh hangs up, i clasp the cell phone to my chest, and thank god he'd made someone like patrick stump.
i'm scared now. scared of myself. it's quite ridiculous really, but suddenly there's al this frustration and anger in me, and i want to hit something. i don't, i just pinched my sides so hard when i pulled my top up five minutes later, there was angry bruises either side of my ribs, purple-ish black, angry and big. they hurt now, everytime i breath, and i contemplate giving up on breathing so the pain would go away, but i can't. i'm not just talking about the pain of the bruise, i'm talking about the pain of my entire life. it's like one big bruise, one that's not going away anytime soon.
my hands keep balling into fists, as though i'm about to punch someone, and when i finally do end up punching something, it's the mirror in the bathroom, and shards fly everywhere. one is lodged right above my eyebrow, and blood is oozing it's way slowly down into my eyes, but i don't know whether it's the blood that's making my vision blur. my hands are bleeding as well, there's tiny cuts all around the knuckle's trickling slightly with blood. i stare at the mess i've made, and a sob rises up in my throat, but i force it down, as i carefully pick up all the glass shards, one of two getting themselves lodged in the fleshy part at the very top of my fingers, but i ignore it. once they're all in a black bin bag i fling it out of my window, and out onto the street, closing my window before the annoyed cries reach my ears.
i stare at fascination at the small shard that's still in me. it's ridiculously tiny, but i don't know whether to pull it out, or keep it in, so i phone up patrick to ask him. my voice is wobbly and shaky as i told him what i'd done [well, okay, i told him that i'd accidentally broken the mirror, but still] and eh said he'd come over right away,. joe must have told him the address, cause i never did, but i heard the shrieking of tires outside a few minutes later, and there's hurried knocking at the door, almost as if i'm about to die. i told him it was tiny. it's nice he cares though. nearly made me cry again.
in case you're reading this patrick, you are the most beautiful person i've ever seen, even more beautiful than your voice. you seem so in control of your life, you're there, certain, confident and so ready to help that i swear i started to cry, but i can't be sure, my memory's rather foggy lately. you seemed willing to take control of me as well, like an older brother or something, and i can't be thankful enough to you.
you said i might need stitches, but i hate hospital, and the way i disagreed venomously must have made you surprised. as lovely as you are patrick, take me to a hospital and i'll write you out of my will, for sure. it was only a tiny piece of glass anyway i tell you, my voice scratchy, and you shrug. you look at me as though you want to protect me form anything bad in the world, and if you do that i'll be yours forever. but you don't. you nod, and fix me something to drink in my own home, ignoring the state of the floor than i haven't cleaned up in what must be a couple of months now, before mumbling a goodbye, and leaving me.
i watch you leave in the doorway, me body slumped against the doorframe as you clamber into your shiny car. when you wave at me, my face lights up slightly, and i wave back, but you drive away faster than i would have liked. i must have scared you away. i'm sorry. i hate myself too. i don't know who i've become. i don't like me anymore. i'm a total stranger to myself, i'm so fucked up in the head it's unbelievable, and i've just started crying again. the inks all running, and i'm blowing on it so i can still read my garbled venting, and i think it worked, but i can't stop the tears anymore. i need to get some sleep. i need to do something other than muse about my feelings.
until another day when i'm feeling like shit.
pete x
i can't stand this at all. it's like there's this monster inside of me, building up, ready to let rip out on everyone. i don't think i can stop it, it's fuelled by anger and frustration and i just keep giving it more and more and more.
i ran my nails all the way down my arm, so i actually felt something without doing anything stupid, anything i know i'll regret
i just want to feel human again.
pete x
[ please read and review, it'd make my day. i've not finished yet, no way near, so you'll have to put up with me for much longer, ha. i have a load of ideas but you want anything in particular to happen in this story? feel free to include it in a review, and i might just think about it.
constructive crits are welcome as well [:
credits to robert frost for the title ^^ ]
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