Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco
The I.V. and your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
He stood silently in the doorway of his father's hospital room.
He'd seen this coming, he didn't need a sixth sense for that. It always came.
He, of course, knew that it would not come without the pain and suffering. It never did.
This is the scent of your skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
It's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Sure as hell ain't normal? Who was he kidding?
This was his normality. What he knew.
He could've even drawn up a floor plan of this place, he'd paced it's halls so many times before.
A smell emanated from this place - The scent of undiluted hospital-grade disinfectant covering up a smell that could only be far worse.
It assaulted his sense of smell with every soft breath he took.
We deal, he thought bitterly. We're dealing.
The anaesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
It's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
He watched his father's face contort in pain as he slept.
Sometimes he wished it upon as he watched him ache.
Other times he wondered why no help ever came.
Why the doctors or nurses rarely attended to this minor inconvenience.
Wait, thats right, it was just that, a minor inconvenience, one that ignorance could mask.
Sit back, just sit back
Sit back and relax
Sit back, just sit back
Sit back and relapse again
He had, his father, relapsed.
He remembered coming in late, bruised and tearful.
His father was in his chair by the television. The TV was muted and the dramatic motions of the actors looked pathetic.
He could smell the sour stench of alcohol as soon as he had crossed the threshold to his home.
House, he corrected, house - not home, this had never been a home.
His father had taken one look at Ryan's black eye and tearstained face and then he smacked him across the cheek. A new bruise to accompany the ones he'd already sustained.
His father was now yelling about how he shouldn't be weak, how he should stand up for himself. His words were slurring and his speech was thick.
Ryan cowered away from his fathers hand for as long as he could.
It wouldn't be long before he couldn't escape it anymore.
Can't take the kid from the fight
Take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
Take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
These words echoed in his head as he remembered all those days he'd spent afraid to be hurt at school and the punished for being so.
All those days he'd spent worrying about who would see his bruises and what they thought.
All those days he'd spent wondering when it would all stop. When it would be safe.
The fight was never taken very far from him. Never something he could've avoided.
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind you what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
It's never like his father required reminders, any he sustained he chose to ignore, however prominent they may be.
Ryan touched his cheek.
Even the ones inflicted on others could be ignored.
Ryan sighed and tilted his head up towards the ceiling.
So this is how it's gonna be?
Can't take the kid from the fight
Can't take the fight from the kid
The truth.
No part of it could be taken from him and he could not be taken from it.
That is how it would be, he thought finally.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
[A/N] I really don't know where I was going with this. May be a little cryptic but I hope it was sort of understandable. I guess I just felt like writing a fic to accompany a song. I hope you enjoy and please take a moment to review. Thank you.
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
He stood silently in the doorway of his father's hospital room.
He'd seen this coming, he didn't need a sixth sense for that. It always came.
He, of course, knew that it would not come without the pain and suffering. It never did.
This is the scent of your skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
It's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Sure as hell ain't normal? Who was he kidding?
This was his normality. What he knew.
He could've even drawn up a floor plan of this place, he'd paced it's halls so many times before.
A smell emanated from this place - The scent of undiluted hospital-grade disinfectant covering up a smell that could only be far worse.
It assaulted his sense of smell with every soft breath he took.
We deal, he thought bitterly. We're dealing.
The anaesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
It's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
He watched his father's face contort in pain as he slept.
Sometimes he wished it upon as he watched him ache.
Other times he wondered why no help ever came.
Why the doctors or nurses rarely attended to this minor inconvenience.
Wait, thats right, it was just that, a minor inconvenience, one that ignorance could mask.
Sit back, just sit back
Sit back and relax
Sit back, just sit back
Sit back and relapse again
He had, his father, relapsed.
He remembered coming in late, bruised and tearful.
His father was in his chair by the television. The TV was muted and the dramatic motions of the actors looked pathetic.
He could smell the sour stench of alcohol as soon as he had crossed the threshold to his home.
House, he corrected, house - not home, this had never been a home.
His father had taken one look at Ryan's black eye and tearstained face and then he smacked him across the cheek. A new bruise to accompany the ones he'd already sustained.
His father was now yelling about how he shouldn't be weak, how he should stand up for himself. His words were slurring and his speech was thick.
Ryan cowered away from his fathers hand for as long as he could.
It wouldn't be long before he couldn't escape it anymore.
Can't take the kid from the fight
Take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
Take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
These words echoed in his head as he remembered all those days he'd spent afraid to be hurt at school and the punished for being so.
All those days he'd spent worrying about who would see his bruises and what they thought.
All those days he'd spent wondering when it would all stop. When it would be safe.
The fight was never taken very far from him. Never something he could've avoided.
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind you what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
It's never like his father required reminders, any he sustained he chose to ignore, however prominent they may be.
Ryan touched his cheek.
Even the ones inflicted on others could be ignored.
Ryan sighed and tilted his head up towards the ceiling.
So this is how it's gonna be?
Can't take the kid from the fight
Can't take the fight from the kid
The truth.
No part of it could be taken from him and he could not be taken from it.
That is how it would be, he thought finally.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
[A/N] I really don't know where I was going with this. May be a little cryptic but I hope it was sort of understandable. I guess I just felt like writing a fic to accompany a song. I hope you enjoy and please take a moment to review. Thank you.
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