Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Psyched

The Attention I Get

by ZippersOverYou 0 reviews

cursing! implications! the usual...

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Parody,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2007-09-24 - Updated: 2007-09-25 - 1012 words

Update Number 3 (or four depending on how much you loved my disclaimer), I've got luck so far, babe. By the way, slashes (/\) are taking the place of italics.

/Bah, I didn't need a psych, anyway. I'm not crazy. Yeah, the only reason I needed Jess was so I wouldn't go crazy. That's it, I need someone to talk to has a maturity level over that of a sex toy. Jess is--\

"Dude, Gerard, I wouldn't drink that. I watched Bob take it into the bathroom."

I flashed a glance at Bob who just raised his eyebrows at me over his clean cup of coffee. Mikey stared at him in disgust, "at least buy it breakfast, Bobby."

He made no comment and I just switched my mug with Frank's. /Where was I? Oh, that's right...maturity level.\


/Darkness encapsulates life and the light sustained by it.
As does death.
Darkness envelopes the coffins.
I can watch the plague hit your heart...\

/Crap. That is total crap.\ I ripped the paper and crumpled it into balls of crap. I wasn't a writer, I was an artist. Even though I was a great artist I still wished I could write, maybe even as well as Frank. Frank wrote beautifully, yet morbidly, and I loved every word. Thinking of Frank's vocabulary, I picked up a poem he's written and left lying around.

/Death and final words
are written in stone.
Sometimes they're the only words of yours someone will buy.
And no cheap price or mourners discount, either.
Dancing drugs before you hit the floor.
Strange bliss you could've used before the bullet.

Mild regret and new relief.
A smile braves your liquid lips: no pain.
A single face enters your mind and she's all you can see.
Two people now separated by the wood of the coffin.
Your smile drops but you can't move to pick it up.
It's too late for you.
The world is darkness with claustrophobic potential.

An eternal hell.
Living, dead in a box.
Eyes open but nothing to see.
Ears alert to every maggot and spineless worm
(just like when you were alive).

One who needs you.
And you, detained for eternity.
No fairytale of fangs and guilty murders;
Of fire and demons.
You're under lock and key.
Under rocks and footsteps.
No god.
No saints.
None of your expectations.
Forever alone and in love.
In love with life and her.

You'll drown in your own thoughts and regrets,
until you're just a soul in a box.*\

I smiled happily and refolded the paper before deciding it could go to a better place and put it in my pocket.

Feeling no inspiration, I closed my notebook and looked around me. Even from the couch I smelled Frank's cigarette smoke and inhaled deeply as if it were my own cancer stick. My lack of food coupled with the carbon dioxide made my stomach feel slightly nausous. I could never smoke on an empty stomach.

My hair was flat as usual but I ran my hand over it, anyway, seeing that no attention was coming my way.

The clock across the room read almost eleven with its long, ivory colored fingers. Using my own pudgy fingers, I imiated the shape the hands made. Feeling absolutely no satisfaction from the accomplishment, I let out a sigh and stood up to head upstairs.

Beneath my back, the matress yielded little comfort once I'd decided it was my bedtime. Lying on the bed, my collared shirt felt confining, constricting and I hurriedly began to unbutton the excessive amount of buttons. Of course, the shirt with its buttons ended up in a wrinkely pile on the floor. Lately I had been sleeping shirtless for some reason. Every night I felt as if my shirt had come to life and was strangling me as I lay idle. Eventually, even the skin on my back became hot and make the bed feel even more uncomfortable.

Someone's loud footsteps boomed up the stairwell and into the hallway.

"Knock, knock," a voice opened the door and was promptly followed by Frank himself. The Emo-Haired Iero jumped on the bed and almost bounced me off. "Hel-LO, Gee."

"Mmph, hey, Frank."

"Where'd you go? We miss you."

"I'm sleepy."

"That's no excuse."

"Leeme alone, Frank."

"We-ell! I was going to protect you from your big band sand worms, but I can see I'm not welcome."

I stared at him, interested, now. He fiddled with a renegade teddy bear and looked up at me with his hazel eyes, "yeah, Mikey told me about the nightmares."

"Hmm..." I hadn't really worried aoubt oncoming bad dreams until now.

"Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine, Frankie."

"You sure you don't need me to sleep with you?"

"I think bouncing me around all night will just make me more tired."

He punched my shoulder, "dirty boy...Go to bed and try not to service yourself so loudly. You keep Bob up."

"You know he likes it."

"Yeah, we all do. Go to sleep."

Iero shut off the light and closed the door as I switched sides of the bed for optimal comfort. For once, I fell asleep easily enough.

What felt like minutes later, my door clicked open and shut again. I opened my eyes to recieve nothing but darkness. "Gerard?" A voice whispered around me and I knew it was Mikey. I groaned, irritated, "what?"

"Are you gonna be ok, tonight?"

"Yes! Frank already came and tucked me in. Tell everyone down there I'll be fine."

"So you don't want me to stay in here?"

"Do you want to sleep in here, Mikey?"

"Do you want me to?"

Violently, I threw myself from the sleeping position, "GOD DAMNIT, MIKEY. LAY THE FUCK DOWN!"
That sufficiently ended the conversation and he scrambled into the bed. I sighed loudly and fell back down with my arm splayed across Mikey's chest. My eyes closed and I drifted back to sleep.

*The poem is mine, not necessarily Frank's. Don't use it. Just don't. I will throw a hissy fit.
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