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
What Certain People of Tumblr Don't UnderstandThere is literally nothing wrong with being cis,
your very existence does not make you transphobic.
You are not an oppressor by default,
do not blame yourself for someone else’s transphobia,
because it’s not your fault.
Racism isn’t restricted to just whites.
Anyone can be a racist,
you need only express a prejudice.
Sexism is practically the same,
no matter the gender,
it goes both ways.
Mental illness is not some fad,
it’s not something to be tossed around so freely,
like some badge.
It’s not something you can self-diagnose you have,
therefore using it as an excuse to act like an ass.
There is a stigma created when you act out, you see.
And the world associates mental illness
with your disgusting tendencies.
It is horrific and cruel to use mental illness as an excuse,
especially when the illness you claim to have is not
Feminism is not for every boy, man, woman or girl.
It is not a cure that will heal inequality in our world.
LifeWhat is life?
Life is something, that we must to respect, something that we hae only one time, something that we must feel inside of us
Our life can be hard or cruel sometimes, but you must learn to live with it, do the best out of it and maybe you can change something in your heart and other once hearts.
Live your life in this way like you feel, be free, be yourself
We dont know the meaning of life.. but we still know what we want: We want to live and that matters.
Even when you go through the biggest adventure, and dont find yourself anymore, there will be people in your life who still helping you out of your misery, no matter what happened
You can be heartless, you can be sad, you even can hate everything, but remember, even when you are one of those persons, you still have something to live for and you always have love inside of your heart. Make yourself proud and dont lose hope or the way you go, you will always be part of something big and fantastic
Never lose your hope and i pro
I'm Sorry For Being a RapistI'm sorry for being a rapist,
though I never even touched you.
I'm sorry for assaulting you,
though all I did was gently brush you.
We were in a crowded subway,
what more could you expect?
Someone bumped up against me,
and my raised hand went to your chest.
I'm sorry for being abusive,
even though I'm just three.
I'm sorry for crying in front of you,
because I’m supposed to be strong.
I'm sorry for being gay,
because society doesn't like it that way.
I'm sorry for being your boss,
even though I worked extremely hard.
As opposed to you, I came from nothing,
and had to earn my family's butter and bread.
We escaped a communist country,
from a government who wanted us dead.
But you wouldn't know that,
because to you we're all the same.
I'm sorry for calling you a bitch,
after you carelessly called me a bastard.
Or calling you a slut,
when you cheated on my friend, and his life ended in self inflicted disaster.
I'm sorry for earning more than you,
but you know you can go to court.
Being Cis Isn't EasyBeing Cis is Easy
So I suppose that when I was kicked out last night,
for being gay,
that my pain meant nothing,
because let’s face it, i'm cis, anyway.
I think that the marks on my wrist are just ketchup stains,
because i'm cis, so I can't bleed,
Did you know, I'm invincible to pain?
Racism isn't a thing if you're a cisgendered male,
be you black, white or whatever,
you can't experience racism, so why even tell?
Misandry nor misogyny exist of your cis,
so girls and boys, let's stop this confusion,
let's just do away with this.
Depression, huh! Do you mean a cry for attention?
Because if you're cis and experiencing this,
don't bother mentioning it.
And you can't be bullied, you cis scum!
So stop telling us that you are,
because we know you're just making it up.
A broken family, bitch please!
Everyone knows that
cisgendered brats have everything.
Call me stingy, but I ask one thing,
I beg of you to keep the
label “cis” away from me.
Because you love to put us al
Autism Is Not A DiseaseSome say it's a virus,
That spreads like the plague,
Until there's nothing left,
But for those with autism,
When we're normal human beings,
Yes we are different,
But isn't everyone else,
Like for those who are bright,
While other's are dumb?
Sure our brains are wired,
All over the place,
Making it harder,
For us to think.
But it doesn't matter,
When no one's the same.
And Believe me,
This world would be a bore,
If we knew our every move,
Knowing what everyone would do.
So let's hear it:
Am I a disease,
Or a living human being?
Control"Please stop, you're scaring me"
They cried with tears shed.
I'm well acquainted with the voices
That live in my head.
They make me so angry.
I'm as cold as ice.
They dare me to do things.
They're my greatest vice.
But they aren't my issue.
The issue here is me.
The demons don't do this.
The demons aren't free.
"Please don't do this"
With voices so old.
This is my body.
I'm the one in control.
numb.walk the edge of disaster
like you are one yourself;
don’t pretend –
the hurricane offering
rain to the earth and when
the cruel wind rips
it away, laugh at the
burn it leaves behind
just to feel
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted Achromatic
I want to be a person just like you, don't you see?
I want to be a person who is still being "me"
A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.
It really would be nice but I'm paying a price
'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not suffice
You asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.
A dream which
anything.i talk about you
to every person i meet
they don't know you
and i can tell them anything.
i can be honest about the severity of the fire
in your eyes
or i could lie and say you love me
i could say you bought me roses
and wrote poems about me
i could say you hold me
while i cry
and send me texts every morning
asking how i slept
even though you know i didn't sleep at all
because we were talking on the phone
about the universe and van gogh
at 2 am.
or i could even say that i don't love you.
i could say you love me like crazy,
but i don't love you back,
that you're the one existing with each separate pulse
of a broken heart
and that i get a good night's sleep
not worrying at all.
but i don't.
instead i show them the blood
on my shirt
from where my skin is drenched
from erratic and choppy heartbeats
that stutter and cut
when you look at me
or when i hear your voice
talking somewhere away.
i could lie to these people
because they don't know you
and they don't know me,