Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy

Dear Diary, I Have A Photograph

by hyperballad13 2 reviews

Not really about the band. I just need it as whored as much as possible

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: G - Genres: Angst - Published: 2007-08-28 - Updated: 2007-08-29 - 863 words - Complete

Dear Diary,

I have a photograph. I make this dance in my fingers. One to the other through the cracks and holes. My prints upon image and my scars upon the memory. I lay upon the pages that he tore from my chapters. It’s time to open wound by wound to sew them back together again.

So this is love. Colder than the words etched into my tomb. He found a new weapon of choice and it was to leave me behind, still standing in the crowd as they all walk away. I traced their faces to pick him out and watch as he walks into empty arms that don’t belong to me. I find shallow.

This jacket I wear is my only friend. It reeks of loneliness. I’ll loose his scent if I were to wash it all away. An aroma she keeps in the bedroom. Bordello lips on her thighs, they creep. He could cover her skin as I lay exposed. I am afraid but I lack the comfort. Call me when it is last resort. Never before, it’s all I am good for.

I make sense to those who pay. A letter screams you name but lands upon the welcome mat. Unopened, uneven. “Return to sender.” Return to the shards. It’s a lifeline but it is tattered, it sways in the wind. Barely a thread but it tries with its strength. I admire.

I slept with the lines that I bandaged up with scars. The blood seeping through from another case of alcoholic reasoning. I find the drips entrancing; watch as they capture the silence in the light shinning. It’s almost blinding to think she ever loved me; it reaches from the clouds and echoes shadows. There’s a spine and it’s broken. So I crawl to her kiss. As I place them on hers, I hear him whisper. I’m not ready for this.

Body like a bomb, ticking with every circled hip. Moving in time with the coins spinning delicately on the floor; a fistful of dollars across her bones. Bleached hair on the bathroom floor with her footprints of blood; the steam from the shower makes messages so much easier to write within the mirror. I never cared. Here’s to hoping it stains.

I was nothing at all. To hide from me, is to kill me. I am easily murdered with my heart teetering on the tallest point in the world. I am the dial tone and my heart sounds exactly like the beat. It haunts me in my dreams. I wake up screaming but there’s no one to bury my tears in. I scream on my own.

I wish these words were gold. A thousand weeks on top and a thousand years in someone’s skin. I wish I was special and not just a weekly moment for a few hours that they can leave behind. I want to be missed. I want to be loved. I want the whole world to cry when I’ve gone.

I could be the shivers they get. An icon for the masses of disillusioned eyes. All praying for the sparks. All dying for the flame. There are a million like me. And neither one complete. It seems so tragic for them to melt into the past. We die together just as romantic as we ever were with no point at all.

I believe in requests. I doubt they’d be answered. I could die by his side but I’ll die alone. With a fantasy I carved out of stone and hung it on my wall to weigh this house down. Mortar could not offer warmth. Concrete is meant to be solid and yet it collapses on me. If he could forget about a moment, she could forget about a sin. Ten foot monsters of judgement could close their eyes. I would pass into the clouds.

This is all I have. A series of bones. Standing tall, barely passing your woes. I remember a time like these dreamers do. I am still a child with my games of imagination. They keep me awake at night and fall into the patterns of the ceiling. I am consumed by forgiveness. If I were smart, I'd heal all that hurts but I am a fool and I can only make it worse.

I make sense to those who play with ash and flames. If I were a phoenix I’d be reborn with beauty. Scarlet feathers, I could soar into a mattress and be awoken by a smile, no longer a regret. I am met with grimaces and groans. It’s adulation to a point.

As long as she’s there, as long as she’s there…

I was always here, she was never there. I was standing by, she was standing right in front of you. What can I do? These are the only words I’ll die with. Pull his body close to mine, so he can feel the jealousy upon my breath. I hope it hurts. I am bitter to croak; What can I do?

Nothing at all.

Ciao Bella
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