Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Burn My Flesh If You Love Me
4 reviewsGerard is practically screaming for someone to help him, but... He won't let anyone in.
0Unrated
Burn off My Flesh
Gerard closes his eyes as the tears drip off his face.
"Gerard?" Frank asks, concerned for his friend, advancing on the curled up teen.
"Go away, Frank." Gerard says, trying to sound convincing even as a sob wracks his thin frame.
"Gerard, what's wrong?" Frank asks, stepping closer to his friend.
"Why do you care?" Gerard spits, looking up from his curled position on the floor.
"I care because I'm your friend." Frank says softly, reaching out to pat Gerard's shoulder, wincing when Gerard flinches away from his friend.
"You haven't spoken to me in months. You're not my friend any longer." Gerard says, frowning at Frank. "Leave me alone."
"But Gerard, you're crying." Frank said, trying to convince his friend to tell him what's wrong.
Gerard laughs. "I've been crying for someone to save me since you left."
"I... I'm sorry." Frank says sympathetically. It's not as if he wanted to leave Gerard...
Gerard chuckles hollowly. "I've been dead to you for far to long."
"Well then maybe it's time I resurrected you." Frank grins.
"No."
"No?"
"No. If you were to busy for me, what's to say it won't happen again? We haven't spoken for months. We've been buried under our lives, I guess." Gerard shrugs.
"But Gerard..."
"Leave me alone, Frank."
... The next day...
Gerard sits up in bed, cold sweat making his body dirty. Too dirty. Unacceptably dirty, a despicable dirty that needs to be eradicated.
Gerard sighs, stepping into his shower system, turning the water on as high as it can go, singeing his flesh, no doubt. But he doesn't care. He wants to forget everything, embrace the pain and forget the day Frank left him. the day Mikey died. The day Gerard just couldn't wipe the blood off his hands.
All because of Frank, all because they've buried themselves under their lies.
The tears that drip out of Gerard's eyes are unnoticeable as the scorching water meets fogs up the bathroom,getting hot enough to turn into gas, or condensation or some fucky science thing Gerard doesn't really care about.
He's been dead for way too long.
Bring him back to life, you have to bring him back to life.
But no one seems to notice, even though he's crying out loud for someone to save him. And here we are, buried under our lies. The pressure draining, exhausting as we struggle, much like Atlas, to keep the world (or the sky in his case) crashing down on us.
Every day, the resistance slackens, the world gets a little heavier and some day Gerard just won't be able to take it. The weight strains everything about him, his passion was crushed with Mikey, his desire to do anything productive hung out and crucified like its an awful thing that shouldn't exist. It's an exorcism against being himself, but he can't help it.
No one can help that Mikey is dead, or that all Gerard sees when he looks in the mirror is blood covering his face and hands.
No one can relieve Atlas of his duty without being crushed by it and the task forced back on Atlas.
Numb to everything in life, alive in the cruelest, most self loathing way possible.
He closes his eyes, taking in the pain as the fiery drops of water splatter across his skin, listening to the violent collision resulting in the oblivion of the droplets.
He's on the edge, looking for someone to save him yet accepting no one's help. It's ludicrous, hypocrisy of the highest standard. Preach against suicide and then commit it.
Not that Gerard's hypocrisy relates to suicide. It's merely a ask for help then not accept it kind of thing. It's stupid, it's painful, low and most certainly despicable.
And he somehow loves it with a bitter hate.
... Later... (I'm not going to really specify much about their lives)
(With Frank)
"He's looking for someone to be him, yet he won't accept help." Frank says, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair.
"That's too bad." Bob says, leaning against the brown door frame.
"You don't seem to care." Frank notes, looking over at his friend.
Bob shrugs. "Probably just being a drama queen again."
Frank sighs. Blame anything you don't want to deal with on the person being ovedramatic, Bob. But maybe... There's some logic to that theory. Or Bob means it. "I suppose."
"As long as he's taking his meds he'll be fine." Bob sys, shrugging. "It's not like he's going to do something stupid like self harm. He hates that stuff."
"I guess..." Frank says, though not thoroughly impressed with the argument.
"Have a drink, forget about it." Bob says, walking over to clank his half full beer bottle against Frank's.
Half full also means half empty.
Just like Gerard.
... Another fucking time lapse...
To die is to live in his head.
Why? Because he's dead. Simple as that, Mikey mother fucking Way is dead. It's a fact Gerard knows well, too well some might argue, yet he's taken up some of his brother's habits. Gerard refuses to leave the house without straightened hair, is quiet and has grown a severe distaste for unicorns. His coffee intake has doubled, but that might also be because of the insomnia.
The ability to stay up all night, yet the overwhelming desire to sleep wether he wants to sleep or not.
Gerard is grateful for his insomnia, in a twisted way. When he's so sleepily forced awake, he doesn't have to see the final face, the hate and disgust that framed his brother's death mask.
If he could turn back time, Gerard would turn it back far enough to do something stupid like erase his existence before it brought Mikey down.
There's nothing left to say, yet so much empty space that needs to be filled with awfully crafted words. The world is filled with too much noise, so many questions no one wants to answer. So many fucking questions!
Gerard takes a sip of coffee like he's singing a death march for a close friend. Or a brother.
The phone rings, and Gerard slowly makes his way to the contraption, barely making the yard long journey before the third and final ring, sighing heavily halfway through this uncharted insomniac territory.
"Speak." Gerard says bluntly, too exhausted to be coughs up with such trivialities similar to politeness.
"Gerard, I just thought I'd call to see how you're doing." A voice on the othe end of the line asks. Gerard's hand starts to shake.
"Ray, why the fuck are you calling me?! After what you did to my brother, you dare call me!?" Gerard yells into the phone.
"I killed him just as much as you did!" Ray defends himself.
"I didn't fucking kill him!" Gerard yells, violently throwing his coffee mug against the tile floor of his kitchen for emphasis.
"Sure you didn't, you mother fucker." Ray says moodily into the telephone, hanging up in a huff.
Gerard sinks to the floor.
Ray's right. It is my fault Mikey is dead.
No one saved Mikey.
No one gets to save Gerard.
+++++
This is a one-shot. It's pretty much all the angst of my playlist. It's 3 am. How this came about? Well... I looked at the iPad and we made a mutual agreement. It went something like "I know you want to so just wire the fucking thing even though I'm determined to make it difficult as possible with my nonexistent spell check.
The reason it's short/the end is a mystery: my iPad is running out of battery power, and I'm not sure if this thing will save... So yes.
I tried earlier to go on a writing spree. I ended up starting a new story and writing a one shot (about an anime on fanfiction.net. Yes, I am not only on Ficwad and have two stories I'm working on over there...it's overwhelming but I try. I'm on like what, eight or so stories I'm working on so sorry about them slow updates)
OMG I'm rambling in the boring way. Tell me what you think? I'm bored. Oh, the song I used were GReen Days Restless Heart Syndrome, ETF Cellar Door, Rise Against's Savior, but mainly Life Was All A Dream by Before Their Eyes.
Review. Humor me.
Gerard closes his eyes as the tears drip off his face.
"Gerard?" Frank asks, concerned for his friend, advancing on the curled up teen.
"Go away, Frank." Gerard says, trying to sound convincing even as a sob wracks his thin frame.
"Gerard, what's wrong?" Frank asks, stepping closer to his friend.
"Why do you care?" Gerard spits, looking up from his curled position on the floor.
"I care because I'm your friend." Frank says softly, reaching out to pat Gerard's shoulder, wincing when Gerard flinches away from his friend.
"You haven't spoken to me in months. You're not my friend any longer." Gerard says, frowning at Frank. "Leave me alone."
"But Gerard, you're crying." Frank said, trying to convince his friend to tell him what's wrong.
Gerard laughs. "I've been crying for someone to save me since you left."
"I... I'm sorry." Frank says sympathetically. It's not as if he wanted to leave Gerard...
Gerard chuckles hollowly. "I've been dead to you for far to long."
"Well then maybe it's time I resurrected you." Frank grins.
"No."
"No?"
"No. If you were to busy for me, what's to say it won't happen again? We haven't spoken for months. We've been buried under our lives, I guess." Gerard shrugs.
"But Gerard..."
"Leave me alone, Frank."
... The next day...
Gerard sits up in bed, cold sweat making his body dirty. Too dirty. Unacceptably dirty, a despicable dirty that needs to be eradicated.
Gerard sighs, stepping into his shower system, turning the water on as high as it can go, singeing his flesh, no doubt. But he doesn't care. He wants to forget everything, embrace the pain and forget the day Frank left him. the day Mikey died. The day Gerard just couldn't wipe the blood off his hands.
All because of Frank, all because they've buried themselves under their lies.
The tears that drip out of Gerard's eyes are unnoticeable as the scorching water meets fogs up the bathroom,getting hot enough to turn into gas, or condensation or some fucky science thing Gerard doesn't really care about.
He's been dead for way too long.
Bring him back to life, you have to bring him back to life.
But no one seems to notice, even though he's crying out loud for someone to save him. And here we are, buried under our lies. The pressure draining, exhausting as we struggle, much like Atlas, to keep the world (or the sky in his case) crashing down on us.
Every day, the resistance slackens, the world gets a little heavier and some day Gerard just won't be able to take it. The weight strains everything about him, his passion was crushed with Mikey, his desire to do anything productive hung out and crucified like its an awful thing that shouldn't exist. It's an exorcism against being himself, but he can't help it.
No one can help that Mikey is dead, or that all Gerard sees when he looks in the mirror is blood covering his face and hands.
No one can relieve Atlas of his duty without being crushed by it and the task forced back on Atlas.
Numb to everything in life, alive in the cruelest, most self loathing way possible.
He closes his eyes, taking in the pain as the fiery drops of water splatter across his skin, listening to the violent collision resulting in the oblivion of the droplets.
He's on the edge, looking for someone to save him yet accepting no one's help. It's ludicrous, hypocrisy of the highest standard. Preach against suicide and then commit it.
Not that Gerard's hypocrisy relates to suicide. It's merely a ask for help then not accept it kind of thing. It's stupid, it's painful, low and most certainly despicable.
And he somehow loves it with a bitter hate.
... Later... (I'm not going to really specify much about their lives)
(With Frank)
"He's looking for someone to be him, yet he won't accept help." Frank says, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair.
"That's too bad." Bob says, leaning against the brown door frame.
"You don't seem to care." Frank notes, looking over at his friend.
Bob shrugs. "Probably just being a drama queen again."
Frank sighs. Blame anything you don't want to deal with on the person being ovedramatic, Bob. But maybe... There's some logic to that theory. Or Bob means it. "I suppose."
"As long as he's taking his meds he'll be fine." Bob sys, shrugging. "It's not like he's going to do something stupid like self harm. He hates that stuff."
"I guess..." Frank says, though not thoroughly impressed with the argument.
"Have a drink, forget about it." Bob says, walking over to clank his half full beer bottle against Frank's.
Half full also means half empty.
Just like Gerard.
... Another fucking time lapse...
To die is to live in his head.
Why? Because he's dead. Simple as that, Mikey mother fucking Way is dead. It's a fact Gerard knows well, too well some might argue, yet he's taken up some of his brother's habits. Gerard refuses to leave the house without straightened hair, is quiet and has grown a severe distaste for unicorns. His coffee intake has doubled, but that might also be because of the insomnia.
The ability to stay up all night, yet the overwhelming desire to sleep wether he wants to sleep or not.
Gerard is grateful for his insomnia, in a twisted way. When he's so sleepily forced awake, he doesn't have to see the final face, the hate and disgust that framed his brother's death mask.
If he could turn back time, Gerard would turn it back far enough to do something stupid like erase his existence before it brought Mikey down.
There's nothing left to say, yet so much empty space that needs to be filled with awfully crafted words. The world is filled with too much noise, so many questions no one wants to answer. So many fucking questions!
Gerard takes a sip of coffee like he's singing a death march for a close friend. Or a brother.
The phone rings, and Gerard slowly makes his way to the contraption, barely making the yard long journey before the third and final ring, sighing heavily halfway through this uncharted insomniac territory.
"Speak." Gerard says bluntly, too exhausted to be coughs up with such trivialities similar to politeness.
"Gerard, I just thought I'd call to see how you're doing." A voice on the othe end of the line asks. Gerard's hand starts to shake.
"Ray, why the fuck are you calling me?! After what you did to my brother, you dare call me!?" Gerard yells into the phone.
"I killed him just as much as you did!" Ray defends himself.
"I didn't fucking kill him!" Gerard yells, violently throwing his coffee mug against the tile floor of his kitchen for emphasis.
"Sure you didn't, you mother fucker." Ray says moodily into the telephone, hanging up in a huff.
Gerard sinks to the floor.
Ray's right. It is my fault Mikey is dead.
No one saved Mikey.
No one gets to save Gerard.
+++++
This is a one-shot. It's pretty much all the angst of my playlist. It's 3 am. How this came about? Well... I looked at the iPad and we made a mutual agreement. It went something like "I know you want to so just wire the fucking thing even though I'm determined to make it difficult as possible with my nonexistent spell check.
The reason it's short/the end is a mystery: my iPad is running out of battery power, and I'm not sure if this thing will save... So yes.
I tried earlier to go on a writing spree. I ended up starting a new story and writing a one shot (about an anime on fanfiction.net. Yes, I am not only on Ficwad and have two stories I'm working on over there...it's overwhelming but I try. I'm on like what, eight or so stories I'm working on so sorry about them slow updates)
OMG I'm rambling in the boring way. Tell me what you think? I'm bored. Oh, the song I used were GReen Days Restless Heart Syndrome, ETF Cellar Door, Rise Against's Savior, but mainly Life Was All A Dream by Before Their Eyes.
Review. Humor me.
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