Keep the Faith
Baby Steps.
"No!" The microphone's metal body crashed full force into the mirror, shattering the silver plated image of the perfectly garnished room and his perfectly angled sulking cheekbones.
"Calm down, Gera..." Mikey stuttered, tears shaking and trembling in dear as they leaped across his face and tangled with the fabric concealing his shriek-loud heaving breaths, scampering within his skin-wrap chest.
"I won't fucking calm down!" Anger climbed out of his elder brother's throat red-eyed, bearing its charcoal fangs, fearless and hateful. "When will this end, Mikey? When will this ever fucking end?"
"W-what do you mean? When will what end?"
"This. This while fucking fiasco of finger-deep lies. This is no alright. So so not fucking alright. It's like a whole new type of beginning... the end? Is it the end, Mikes? Is this the fucking murder to everything? Our final act?" Distress swirled within his words along with the trembling beating of his fingers trapping this throat.
"Never..." A voice added, "as long as the curtains are still open we'll keep playing. Until our arms fall off and our voices break." Frank's eyes ran over his friend's cracking sanity; he saw the broken shredded wings of the man who would bleed his hurt dry then smear it all over the words spurting from the voice now cornered by his fingers; terrified and choked by the fire of his own renewed wounds of festering insecurities.
"What if the curtain's already been closed? On our fingers? On our hopes? What if the world's hands have already swatted us down? To no more than dirty unwashed drops of crimson-brown on its dress? Forgettable and unnoticeable?"
"Did we let it crush us down when we first ran out of its shadow? When five boys, fucked over and fucked to nothing, made it."
"To what? Made it to what is the question. A happy ending? Or to breaking more kids in our way of glory, Frank?"
"Or to mending them?" Mikey's silence was torn by that feather-soft whisper sliding off his lips.
"What?" Gerard stole a look at the younger Way, unsure whether the slightly distorted words were his brother's or not.
"I said what if we're mending them, Gerard? That's why we were in this in the first place, wasn't it?" Mikey's eyes stumbled upon his brother's weary own; just to see that the anger and wrath freckling his pupils were dying under the bright lights, where something else had perished long ago; that little bit of hope glistening and swimming within his ore smile.
It... evaporated; leaving starchy marks on the skeletal roof of his scarred webby charisma that just crashed -engraved within the knotted metal- into the un-expecting mirror.
"At first... at first?" Lost murmurs clumsily tripped from and over his lips, confused, passive, crashing into the walls of a lonely heartbeat. "It was a completely different scene then, Mikey. We were fixing ourselves at the time..."
"To change the world... am I right?"
Once more, words split his powder-pale lips t spill a most confused red flush across his marble-pure cheeks. "Changing the world means changing the people corrupting everything good and real."
"Don't you think we did that? Even at the slightest? You saw the kids, they sing along, they believe in us, they believe us. Doesn't that count for something? It's all in baby steps, Gee. You can't read for the star before you fly." The younger Way sibling smiled the way his eyes shone; hopefully.
A little subtle hope of kiss snuck from his eyes onto everyone's as he repeated. "Baby steps.
"You have to trip before you stand. Those kids listened to you; you know how hard that us? They never do. That's what this is all about; reaching out to someone who gets you. And accomplishing that is one step; baby step. Next step is when they speak up instead of just listening then... our kids will change the world."
Somehow that last phrase shook up and tautened the lead singer's ribcage; our kids. Kids, baby steps, a voice, the world, fans, songs torn apart by misconceptions, songs spun out of passion, sweet spew and sour tears; all rooting and bleeding out in the twin platinum-glow slivers spread on the ground and engulfing the bruised microphone on the naked floor.
"Baby steps?" he asked, wearing a look bordering on childish, painting his face with a pretty innocent shade of rose pretty enough to abolish all previous wants of shredding signing tongues and drowning in pools of his dark dark cold frozen blood, swallowed by night and his stinging wide-open crushed lips.
"Baby steps, Gee. Baby steps." Another kiss of baby hopeful smiles, still blossoming in their orchid-pink tinted hideaways.
"Calm down, Gera..." Mikey stuttered, tears shaking and trembling in dear as they leaped across his face and tangled with the fabric concealing his shriek-loud heaving breaths, scampering within his skin-wrap chest.
"I won't fucking calm down!" Anger climbed out of his elder brother's throat red-eyed, bearing its charcoal fangs, fearless and hateful. "When will this end, Mikey? When will this ever fucking end?"
"W-what do you mean? When will what end?"
"This. This while fucking fiasco of finger-deep lies. This is no alright. So so not fucking alright. It's like a whole new type of beginning... the end? Is it the end, Mikes? Is this the fucking murder to everything? Our final act?" Distress swirled within his words along with the trembling beating of his fingers trapping this throat.
"Never..." A voice added, "as long as the curtains are still open we'll keep playing. Until our arms fall off and our voices break." Frank's eyes ran over his friend's cracking sanity; he saw the broken shredded wings of the man who would bleed his hurt dry then smear it all over the words spurting from the voice now cornered by his fingers; terrified and choked by the fire of his own renewed wounds of festering insecurities.
"What if the curtain's already been closed? On our fingers? On our hopes? What if the world's hands have already swatted us down? To no more than dirty unwashed drops of crimson-brown on its dress? Forgettable and unnoticeable?"
"Did we let it crush us down when we first ran out of its shadow? When five boys, fucked over and fucked to nothing, made it."
"To what? Made it to what is the question. A happy ending? Or to breaking more kids in our way of glory, Frank?"
"Or to mending them?" Mikey's silence was torn by that feather-soft whisper sliding off his lips.
"What?" Gerard stole a look at the younger Way, unsure whether the slightly distorted words were his brother's or not.
"I said what if we're mending them, Gerard? That's why we were in this in the first place, wasn't it?" Mikey's eyes stumbled upon his brother's weary own; just to see that the anger and wrath freckling his pupils were dying under the bright lights, where something else had perished long ago; that little bit of hope glistening and swimming within his ore smile.
It... evaporated; leaving starchy marks on the skeletal roof of his scarred webby charisma that just crashed -engraved within the knotted metal- into the un-expecting mirror.
"At first... at first?" Lost murmurs clumsily tripped from and over his lips, confused, passive, crashing into the walls of a lonely heartbeat. "It was a completely different scene then, Mikey. We were fixing ourselves at the time..."
"To change the world... am I right?"
Once more, words split his powder-pale lips t spill a most confused red flush across his marble-pure cheeks. "Changing the world means changing the people corrupting everything good and real."
"Don't you think we did that? Even at the slightest? You saw the kids, they sing along, they believe in us, they believe us. Doesn't that count for something? It's all in baby steps, Gee. You can't read for the star before you fly." The younger Way sibling smiled the way his eyes shone; hopefully.
A little subtle hope of kiss snuck from his eyes onto everyone's as he repeated. "Baby steps.
"You have to trip before you stand. Those kids listened to you; you know how hard that us? They never do. That's what this is all about; reaching out to someone who gets you. And accomplishing that is one step; baby step. Next step is when they speak up instead of just listening then... our kids will change the world."
Somehow that last phrase shook up and tautened the lead singer's ribcage; our kids. Kids, baby steps, a voice, the world, fans, songs torn apart by misconceptions, songs spun out of passion, sweet spew and sour tears; all rooting and bleeding out in the twin platinum-glow slivers spread on the ground and engulfing the bruised microphone on the naked floor.
"Baby steps?" he asked, wearing a look bordering on childish, painting his face with a pretty innocent shade of rose pretty enough to abolish all previous wants of shredding signing tongues and drowning in pools of his dark dark cold frozen blood, swallowed by night and his stinging wide-open crushed lips.
"Baby steps, Gee. Baby steps." Another kiss of baby hopeful smiles, still blossoming in their orchid-pink tinted hideaways.