Keep the Faith

Believe and Live

I watch as he sheds everything he has just five feet away from me. As he gives everything in his possession, sweat, blood, tears. His voice cracks in pain from the glares that the crowd constantly gives him. I wanted to scream at them, “Stop it! Don’t you see what you’re doing to him? You’re all killing him! If you came to just watch him crumble then go to the fucking back of the arena and let the people who really love him come up here!” But it wouldn’t do much, because I bet that over half of the people in this mosh pit just came to spit at him, to make him painfully aware of their hatred.

You would think that it didn’t affect him at all, that he just shook it off and ignored it, because that’s what he displayed and some people took that as arrogance and say “He’s changed!” I wanted to scream at them as well, tell them that of course he’s changed, he changed almost four years ago when he became sober. Would they rather have the same drunk man that wanted nothing but to end his life? No one wants that for themselves, so why the hell do they want that for him? He doesn’t deserve it, no one does. They say they want the ‘old Gerard’ back, fine. Let them have him. See how long he lasts.

He never wanted to be put so high on the pedestal we’ve placed him upon. He never wanted to be looked up to so savagely, but yet we’re mad at him for slipping just an inch, when we should be mad at ourselves, because this is our fault. Completely our fault. Watch him slip just an inch, watch him fall ever so slightly, and we pounce on him, with words and glares so vile that no living creature deserves to witness such things.

But what does he do? He just plasters on that fake concrete smile and goes on, laying contentedly on the autopsy table as they slowly and tortuously dissect him with their weapons. We don’t see what’s underneath the mask though. We don’t see how much this truly hurts him, inside and out. How hard his heart struggles to pump the thickened blood through his tired, neon-burned veins, the ones we strangle. How raw his throat becomes, trying to force out the melodies that brought us to him through our clenched. How much we truly break him.

He’s not made of stone, he’s not a god, or an angel, he’s just a man. A man who has had every possible thing thrown at him. He’s a human being, just like you and I. There’s a heart to be broken, spirit to be shattered, feelings to be hurt. Just like you and me.

Everything he does should be enough, it should always have been enough, but it never has and never will be, because we will always want more. More blood, more tears, more sweat, more life. But he only has so much. What will happen when he runs out? Will we just toss his lifeless corpse aside and move on to the next victim? You all go ahead, but me, I’ll stand by him, because he’s never given up on, he always believed, and he always will.

So when you’re walking away, laughing at how he easily fell, be sure to look back just once. You’ll see your fallen hero rise to back to his feet with the few loyal followers beside him.

So go ahead, abandon him now, because when he lives again, he won’t need you at all.

Believe and live, my friends.

Believe and live.
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Written by Pretty.Odd.Song. I just posted because she was too lazy to post it herself. ;] I think it's brilliant though. Agree?