Keep the Faith

Faith.
Failure.
Angst,
Trauma.
Hell.

The definition of faith; my own.

Introductions, questions; why should I bother? Questions, questions, questions...

In front of the cannon that is the people; you don't even have time to think rather than question.

Wounds burdened my already heavy sick heart, seeing the looks in my peers' eye; as their chameleon-like faces reside to their colorful smirks and their green-eyed smiles.
Losing yourself is one thing and losing your faith is another.

One is kissing your sanity and dignity goodbye, and the other is welcoming hurt with the most appropriate greeting; spreading your palm allowing it to be scratched and infected by your foes' venom, or maybe even your equals' artlessly scorching looks.
Even your own wife, family are starting to doubt the being of this creature before them.

All that occurring behind my back; I never took notice of the fans' bone-chilling words every time I turned around, nor their faltering heat.
Kissing away every molecule of self-respect hasn't been so easy, even when I was the insecure teenager thriving to rip his way out of normalcy's sheets; it wasn't smoothly executed like the leak in my pride.

Like the floral patterns adorning an old woman's dress, I felt diamante, over-done, wrinkled, old.
Colors slowly faded away from my surroundings ever since I grasped onto their sayings. Everything was only black and white; no grey, no middle, nothing that could be used to justify what I've done to myself image. Deformed it, ripped it apart, attempted to fix and patch it but... nothing ever worked.

I was still the same damaged and dented teenager with the torn lip.

Even growing up hadn't worked. Guess it's because I never saw myself as a grown up.
Eloquence and complex words were just ways to drench how I actually felt about this whole situation.

I've never wished for anything to go down the gutter like I did now.

Those black sunglasses chucked at the corner were very much my only friend, helping my to amputate myself and my rarely seen conflicts away from the outer world's eyes.

Eyes spill everything.
Tell-tale eyes.

And those black articles shield me from all their gossiping lips and degrading looks.

After each meeting; each contact with the outer world my fingers reach up behind my black shield to wipe away the extract of shame and regret seeping out of the corner of my eye.
Nobody is supposed to see them again. Not even my close ones.

I guess I've been tearing out the tubes feeding my heavy heart all along; ignoring the hemorrhage of non-existent self-proclaimed adequacy.
They all say I fell down, I slipped, I broke.

They say, they say, they fucking say.

I'm not their doll and never will be.
I don't hand my marionette strings to anyone that easily; especially to a pack of naive children dressed in black numbers and frosted with fake sickening diversity.

I've seen her cry way too many times over what I'm doing to myself, what I'm saying...
I've seen love die way too many times; but ours deserve to be alive....

My increasing lack of self-esteem is starting to drain the life out of both of us, drain the passion and heat cornered between ours kisses and stares.
They were breaking me and her down.

Shining lights and blinding rays can't hide it anymore. She can't forgive me, too.
Guitar chords and screamed out words, shouts, growls can't conceal the truth, she doesn't love me anymore.

Treading moist grounds between the crowds of people; holding her small hand; through the looks of thy's peers and darlings all sewing their sweet, sweet smiles with threads of lies dangling from their eyes.

Their tell-tale eyes.
Blue, green, black, brown, hazel.

Eyes similar to my own, older eyes laying beneath crows-feet dotted with spots and freckles, younger eyes wide-eyed in heart-wrenching innocence, Gazelle lie.
Lying eyes. All of them.

liar, liar pants of fire... The children's song words danced in and out of the entrance of my lips as I viewed their young lying eyes again.
They say they lost the faith; well if they did why do they keep coming? Just to shoot me down with their glares? Or to mentally shove me down the waste bin of their memoirs after the last glances they devour insatiably?
They shot me down with their lead bullets made out of ignorance.
And every time one of them catapults a look towards the corner I isolate myself in, a bit of the nutshell crumbles and flakes.

I'm dry.

Deprived from the light that blinds some and resuscitates the dead seeds planted within their lying eyes.
I'm stupid. Lie.
I'm an idiot. Lie.
I'm innocent. Lie.

See how that simple three lettered word can be affectively used to chisel our unshaped hearts? See how simple it is to break some one down? See, loves?

Your tell-tale eyes can't see through... They've sewn your lids together; welded the flesh with simple whispers telling you not to see.
I can see you putting your hands over your stapled lips, repressing a snicker, a laugh, a smirk because you know if you let them part it mean you'll bleed more lies, more tiny crimson colored lies sputtering around with my denying words.

You all love me, don't you?

Keep your stapled lips shut, keep your rusted eye lids closed, turn away; give me your knotted backs.
I can take a punch in my frail state. I've been my own punching bag for as long as I can remember.

So break me down, crush me, rub my face in the ground.
Just do it slowly, please?
I don't want to know that I'm breaking, I'm too pretty to be fordone like that.

You already made me fall out of love and fall apart; I've fallen out of love with her, with all of you, with music.

So break me down some more, it won't hurt.

Your lying eyes lingered at my features when I say that out loud; thinking I'm a mad man finally revealing his insides.

Your voices run amok between whispers and shouts when I'm being dragged inside by my fellow band members.
Hush children, don't say a word. Madness strikes heroes, too.
But I am not a hero. I'm a boy who just happened to be in the way and got pushed under that bright sign of 'Heroesvilles. I was a visitor, not a citizen. I am human.

How else I could love you all?
Heroes don't love, they save. And the only one I saved was this train wreck of a human Gerard Way. Do you know him?

Snicker.

I'm mad and you're sane?
Because you scream in the depths of yourself and I smuggle my pained shrieks through barriers of your silencing glares?
I tuck a runaway lock of black behind my ear, receiving every one's pleading stares for me to speak; tell them I'm alright. Say that what just happened was nothing.

But...
Then I'd be lying.

We don't need more lies; though it's such a pretty word, isn't it?

Instead of the expected words of comfort, a most beaten down cliché fell from my lips without an ounce of hesitation:
"I'm not okay."

I hang my head in shame as the repetitive lines slipped out, fearing the response composed of intolerant facial expressions and hidden gestures.
All I could come out with was a repeat of my own broken record, the record that so many of them clawed and delved in; the banner they used as their own when they were asked what they felt. Exploit my feelings and post them as your own?
Shame.
Using my voice to release their own?
Shame.
Saving their lives?
Shame, shame, shame, shame, shame.
Does it take more than that to disband a person?
Questions, questions, questions. All unanswered.
Doing an autopsy between the corpses of past lines of conversation won't work.
Crossing fingers won't work.

Fall.
Agony.
Insight.
Thorn.
Hate.

So many definitions for one frequently used word, you have to have faith in religion, love, their idols.
Their heroes.

So why did theirs fade so quickly?
Another question.

A pointless question as usual.

Maybe it's because I'll never learn not to question what I'm given.
Maybe it's because I'm faithless myself.
Maybe it's because I'm fickle; like them...
Or worse.

Those conclusions -strangely- put my heart at ease.
To know that there is some reasonable explanations to all this madness.
And the fact that I was unaware of it all made me feel so... so vulnerable, so clueless...

Old enough to not to be able to catch up to the new age's methods, ancient.
Elaboration was never the way to distract, so I guess I'll sit at the sidelines and allow myself to be pulled apart by scalpels and axes.
Between myself, my peers, and my believers.

Something along those lines.

Sit down back in my corner, bearing with their pitying looks.

Their tell-tale eyes.
Blue, brown. hazel and green...
Four pairs of eyes along with hers...

Four sighs and one silent cry.
A tragic event to all,

Your beloved nobody has proclaimed what he is.

All thanks to your eyes, lying beautiful eyes.

I ran my shaking fingers through my hair again; and again, and again, and again.
Please don't ask me to look up and lose myself in your sea of innocently perplexed stares.

Please.
I gave you my reason to believe, who why won't give me yours?
Let me slip away peacefully into the darkness slouching in the back of their minds, rest in peace where I should be.

Listen to her sobs and sighs pierce through her pleading eyes.
Can't you see a non-believer, too?
She was the first and I won't be there to see the last.

As I said...
Eyes say it all,
Better than words even.

They lie, maneuver, flicker in and out of the range of truth, flare up, dim down. scream, moan ...

Flicker, flicker. Bat, bat.
Another flicker.
Another bat.
Pupils dance here.
Pupils dance there.

You're lying.

You're all lying.

"We all love you."
Bat, bat.

But you're all lying to me darling. You are.
The ones outside in their either store-bought or home-made T-shirts, the ones with expensive suits and expensive tastes.

Even you Mikey, you're a fucking liar.
I love you.

Over twenty lost stares surround me now as I break into waves of laughter, insane laughter.
They're worried.

Too late, loves. You're already lost me.

As I lost my battle of wills, as I lost my alleged faith.
So kiss my heavy heart goodbye.
It's all spilt on the floor now, between the layers of ground and your shoes.
More insane laughs and anxious looks.

Goodbye.