Made from blood and carnage
Only shall the darkest rise
None to be spared in this wreckage
Save for the souls of innocents
The time is near
Every fear building to life
Revenge of the monster so bittersweet
Sheets/FrerardGerard's fingers ached from all the emails he'd typed that day. His head was pounding. His mouth was dry, and he was pretty sure he was coming down with something. Frank was out of town, and had been for two weeks on business, so there wasn't even some snuggling and tickle fights to look forward to upon stumbling into the apartment, deadbeat and exhausted. He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Only an hour left, he told himself. Only an hour before you can curl up in bed.
The car ride home was excruciating. Gerard's head was throbbing so horribly, he couldn't even stand to listen to the radio. The purr of the engine was too loud. He thought his head was going to explode.
He pulled into the driveway, parked next to Frank's car that had just sat for two weeks, and would sit for another, until Frank came home. A dull ache rooted itself in Gerard's chest. He missed his Frank more than he'd ever admit. He missed coming home to snuggles and movies and half-decent meals that h
Protection Reflection - PrologueProtection Reflection: Prologue
How did parts of us get trapped in the mirror? Pixels part of a whole being pressed into reflective glass. Grains of sand that didn't seem so important when they were stolen from the beach. They never seem important until half the shoreline is gone.
Is it the same way with people?
Or the opposite?
Do we seem important when we are reduced to almost nothing, half of the person we used to be, and half the blinding tears we've cried?
Or are we important when we finally manage to pull everything together and glue the puzzles pieces down?
Don't we all wish we knew the answer to that?
But no one holds the answers. And we're still stealing sand to make glass--windows, doors, mirrors.
Sheets of reflective glass, showing what you really are. Outlining all the visible flaws. Hiding all the ones that crawl under your skin, waiting to be discovered. Displaying physical scars like billboards on skin, screaming "I'm not perfect". But neither are you.
His Return 2Frank stalled; there was no way Gerard just said that. There was no way those two words just came out of the taller man's mouth, released into the open air. Gerard watched him, eyes absorbing every detail--the new tattoos, the hauntingly nostalgic look in his eyes, the way his hands twitched with nerves. Gerard's breath was locked in his chest; it refused to be let out and replaced. Just as his heart would not let Frank go, would not let Frank be replaced.
"Wh-what?" Frank finally stuttered out.
"I said 'marry me.'" came Gerard's reply, whilst he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. His voice almost stuck in his throat, barbed and deadly, but he forced them through his teeth; they were too important to not be said.
"I can't marry you."
Frank stared at the man--there was no way that he could marry Gerard. That would blow up in his face later on in life... But why did he feel like he needed to say yes? Even after all these years, he felt so inclined to accept t
To Whom it May Concern - Chapter 1 (I Am Me)To whom it may concern:
I am me.
I tell that to everyone. No one seems to get it though; it’s like some foreign language now. They’ll ask you who your role model is, and what you’re doing to be just like them. I’ll tell them Gerard Way or Billie Joe Armstrong and they’ll go “oh the guy from that emo band” or “the guy that ‘fell off the wagon.’ Nice choice.” It’s kind of sickening, to have someone you met five minutes ago put down the person that inspires you to be you. Kind of hurts too. To know that someone can’t see past the surface, or the amount of drinks someone’s had in the past few months. Yeah, they’ve gone through some crap, but guess what, they got through it. That’s what matters.
It’s frustrating, to be put down. To be told you aren’t good enough. To see everyone staring at you like you’re an alien, or a lion that’s going to eat them.
I walked into s
When It's TimeWhen It's Time
I sit alone in my bedroom,
Staring at the walls.
I've been up all damn night long.
My pulse is speeding,
My love is yearning.
I hold my breath and close my eyes and...
Dream about him.
Cause he's 2000 light years away.
He holds my malachite so tight so...
Never let go.
Cause he's 2000 light years away,
I sit outside and watch the sunrise,
Look out as far as I can.
I can't see him, but in the distance,
I hear some laughter.
We laugh together.
I miss you.
I miss you too. Though our time together was short. Hopefully we'll meet again someday and have more time to get to know one another in person.
Wherever you go,
You know I'll be there.
If you go far,
You know I'll be there.
I'll go anywhere,
So I'll see you there.
You name the time,
You know I'll be there.
I'll go anywhere,
So I'll see you there.
I don't care if you don't mind.
With Love, Your Valentine - Valentines Oneshot
With Love, Your Valentine
A crash downstairs woke Gerard from his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes with fisted hands, and sat up in bed, blanket and sheets pooling in a wrinkled mess around his waist. The crash didn't alarm him--it was probably just the dog running around and being a dumbass again. It didn't bother him anymore; Rocky probably just wanted to go out. He threw a glance at the empty space beside him, then to his phone. He clicked the lock button and the lock screen came up: 4:28a.m., February 14th. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Valentines Day.
Gerard swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his phone, and tugged on his old Vans. He slid his jacket on and headed for the bedroom door. These lonely nights were simply a routine, one that Gerard didn't particularly enjoy or like. He just wanted to be able to sleep in on his days off. Was that too much to ask? He thought not, but apparently Rocky thought that idea was ridiculous, for he was scratchi
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
and one fall will not kill you.
i have never told you about the way
i can feel my pulse skitter to a stop
in my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well.
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear?
Depression isn’t true!
Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...
Just maybe not for you.
it's okay to not be okaysometimes it’s okay
to sit on the floor of the bathroom stall
and let your feelings gather- it’s okay
to let them pool like a lachrymose lagoon
as the inside of your stomach does summersaults;
I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,
they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,
let them pour out of you like tidal waves-
release the tsunami from within you
and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,
they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beads
cathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;
but remember how even the clouds
may cry tempestuously today,
only to make room
for much brighter days
so I promise you, darling
it’s going to be okay.
You Never Really Were ThereYou're right here, I know it.
I can hear your voice,
I can see your eyes,
I can smell your scent,
I can feel my heartbeat
Speeding as you approach.
But when I reach out my hand
To try and touch your face,
You just vanish in the air,
Remembering me that
You never really were there.
a list of things colleges don't want to know1. i have a cactus named atticus that i bought
on the day i thought i was going to die,
and i never forget to water it, not
even when i forget how it feels
to breathe without my lungs rebelling
against my brain.
2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravel
in a Georgian summer heat.
i try to keep talking anyway,
and hope that eventually
my voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.
3. once, a man whistled at me
outside of a grocery store from
the safety of his car.
four years later, i still haven’t stopped looking
over my shoulder.
4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharply
and i never put enough sugar
in my tea and i could probably survive
on watermelon alone. i’m left handed
and once taught myself to write only in capital
letters to piss off my seventh grade english teacher.
5. i have never felt closer to my father
than when we stayed
outside till two a.m. in november and watched
a meteor shower.
6. there are some things
i don’t think i’ll ever
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:
I did not ask to be birthed
Into a cycle of stagnation.
I did not ask to be told,
That my dreams are achievable;
Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.
I did not ask for a failing system,
Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.
Nodding eagerly at one another,
As they wait for an inevitable death.
This I did not ask for,
And I am certain that most of you did not either.
But it is for that reason,
And for that reason alone, I say:
That it is up to us,
We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,
To create a system that is better,
Than the bitter shackles of the past.
Justice is what I long for.
Justice for MY people.
An Angel's Promise'Thou art mine,
And so thou shall remain.'
I will not let you have any other before me,
Nor can there be any after.
For it is your soul that I have shared
And it is your soul that I do take.
Your worship is the blood that flows through me.
Your praise is the heart that pumps life into my veins.
I have accepted that which is torn;
And if you are not whole before me,
Then by my will and word,
You shall be made whole.
So fear not this frigid world,
Though its cold bites deeply into your flesh.
I shall take that which has been torn from you
And weep life into it,
Until only warmth remains.
For thou art already mine,
And so thou shall remain.
her hollow bones.i.)
the skeletons hung
in her closet,
lurking in her
eyes as she watched the
across the glass
in the window and
she let it linger
on her dust-covered
mirror too for she couldn't
stand to look
in his eyes
made for trapping
dying ravens like
her in pools of
(and he was the type to give flowers
whilst she was the type to twist
the heads off without remorse and
throw everything down the drain
without a second glance)
in passion (but not in love)
because her paper
skin and vermillion
lips were not made to
last the summer, her
marble ice features were
created to melt
away into the dust.
on the day he
left her hollow
bones for an angel
girl with wings who
liked roses and
empty promises she
could never understand
up her fragments
of ivory and
put them to rest
in the closet beside
- numb hearts have no feelings