Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Never Told You What I Do For A Living - Or After Living
Another knife in my hands
A stain that never comes off the sheets
Clean me off
I’m so dirty babe
Stab. Stab. Stab. Punch. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? No. Dispose of the body.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Add soap. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? YES!? Bloody hell I’m gonna kill that motherfucker all over agai-
“Gerard?...Gerard?...GERARD!?” my thoughts were interrupted by my boyfriend’s voice. His beautiful voice. I froze. “What the hell are you doing babe? Why is there blood on your hands? What happened?” “I – I – I”, I turned to look at him. His hair had grown out a little. It was long again, almost to his shoulders. My hair was to my chin, red, and in need of a new dye job. It was beginning to remind me too much of the color of blood. Maybe I should dye it black again. He was wearing some baggy black jeans, mismatched blue and green socks, and one of my stage shirts. The loose grey one with massive sleeves that show half my sides. It actually looked quite good on him. His hair was kinda messed up. He had just woken up. I had made to much noise coming in. I knew I should have cleaned up in a public bathroom. Oh god. He’s gonna find me out. I only have 980 souls. That’s 20 more people I have to kill. He’s gonna hate me. Disown me. And this will all have been for nothing. I looked into his eyes. I blacked out.
Touched by angels, though I fall out of grace
I did it all so maybe, I’d live this every day
When I came to I was on my bed. No, scratch that. Our bed. I rolled over and came face to face with Frank. He was lying next to me one hand on my waist and the other propping up his head to watch me while I slept. I looked up at him apprehensively. I smiled warily at me. I looked at my hands. They were clean. I looked at him guiltily. He frowned with concern.
“You don’t have any injuries Gerard. Where is that blood from?”
“No where.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not.”
“Gerard.”
“Frankie?”
“Please, I find you in the bathroom scrubbing some unidentified and mysterious blood off your hands in damn near hysterics and then you pass out on me?”
“I’m dead Frankie.” I regretted telling him the second it came out of my mouth. But what else could I have done? Ran away? Ignored him? Murdered him? No ladies and gentlemen I could not. I had to tell him. God, why!? Fuck me. Fuck my life. Fuck my living dead life!? Does that even make any fucking sense? I sure hope he didn’t check for a pulse when he laid me on the bed. Wanna know why fuckers?! ‘Cause I don’t bloody fucking have one! That’s right I’m dead! Just 20 more souls and I can actually breathe again out of necessity. My heart will pump blood. I’m surprised I got out of the hospital but then again I’m sure the devil has his tricks. I want to live again. So why did I tell him? Why did I agree to this? Why? Why? WHY!? Ah, who gives a shit? Certainly not my Frankie. Certainly not me. Not the devil. And not God. Surely, he could have saved me? Done something for me? Anything? I know he’s there. If there devil is then he is. I screamed in my head. Screamed at the top of my mental lungs. And what did it do? Nothing.
“What?”
And so I told him. The truth. Everything. Starting with the accident 8 months ago to today. To soul #980. And what did he say?
“I’ll help you.”
Oh, god. What have I done?
A stain that never comes off the sheets
Clean me off
I’m so dirty babe
Stab. Stab. Stab. Punch. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? No. Dispose of the body.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Add soap. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? YES!? Bloody hell I’m gonna kill that motherfucker all over agai-
“Gerard?...Gerard?...GERARD!?” my thoughts were interrupted by my boyfriend’s voice. His beautiful voice. I froze. “What the hell are you doing babe? Why is there blood on your hands? What happened?” “I – I – I”, I turned to look at him. His hair had grown out a little. It was long again, almost to his shoulders. My hair was to my chin, red, and in need of a new dye job. It was beginning to remind me too much of the color of blood. Maybe I should dye it black again. He was wearing some baggy black jeans, mismatched blue and green socks, and one of my stage shirts. The loose grey one with massive sleeves that show half my sides. It actually looked quite good on him. His hair was kinda messed up. He had just woken up. I had made to much noise coming in. I knew I should have cleaned up in a public bathroom. Oh god. He’s gonna find me out. I only have 980 souls. That’s 20 more people I have to kill. He’s gonna hate me. Disown me. And this will all have been for nothing. I looked into his eyes. I blacked out.
Touched by angels, though I fall out of grace
I did it all so maybe, I’d live this every day
When I came to I was on my bed. No, scratch that. Our bed. I rolled over and came face to face with Frank. He was lying next to me one hand on my waist and the other propping up his head to watch me while I slept. I looked up at him apprehensively. I smiled warily at me. I looked at my hands. They were clean. I looked at him guiltily. He frowned with concern.
“You don’t have any injuries Gerard. Where is that blood from?”
“No where.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not.”
“Gerard.”
“Frankie?”
“Please, I find you in the bathroom scrubbing some unidentified and mysterious blood off your hands in damn near hysterics and then you pass out on me?”
“I’m dead Frankie.” I regretted telling him the second it came out of my mouth. But what else could I have done? Ran away? Ignored him? Murdered him? No ladies and gentlemen I could not. I had to tell him. God, why!? Fuck me. Fuck my life. Fuck my living dead life!? Does that even make any fucking sense? I sure hope he didn’t check for a pulse when he laid me on the bed. Wanna know why fuckers?! ‘Cause I don’t bloody fucking have one! That’s right I’m dead! Just 20 more souls and I can actually breathe again out of necessity. My heart will pump blood. I’m surprised I got out of the hospital but then again I’m sure the devil has his tricks. I want to live again. So why did I tell him? Why did I agree to this? Why? Why? WHY!? Ah, who gives a shit? Certainly not my Frankie. Certainly not me. Not the devil. And not God. Surely, he could have saved me? Done something for me? Anything? I know he’s there. If there devil is then he is. I screamed in my head. Screamed at the top of my mental lungs. And what did it do? Nothing.
“What?”
And so I told him. The truth. Everything. Starting with the accident 8 months ago to today. To soul #980. And what did he say?
“I’ll help you.”
Oh, god. What have I done?
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