Keep the Faith

Who am I you say?
I am the darkness that curls in the back of your closet; I am the arrayed ghost of your juvenile imagination.
Again, who am I?
The boney fingers that dance between the fabrics of your clothes behind closed doors.

I am a Way, the one who's haunting your closet.

Your boogie-man
Was killing me with your lies fun? Pleasurable even? Did starting this whole web of lies and letters make you throw your head and moan your heart out, hips grinding?
Did pushing me over the cliff of sanity satisfy your heartless sadistic needs?
Is it wrong for me to have a say about this? To stop your heart like you stopped mine?
When you sleep at night don't forget to check behind your closed door, the black haired slain skeleton is waiting for you. The gaping red hole in the center of the grinning skull wants you so bad.

Tackle your fears and take a look, little girl.
See what your lost faith and manipulative fingertips did.
Forced a gun to a forehead, made a shaking finger pull the trigger, let the lifeless figure slump against the red stained wall, chunks of hair and brain matter dangle from those dark locks as wide-eyes shut and lips paralyze into an eternal shriek.

Don't be scared little girl, don't cry. This is what you did.

Karma bites and never let goes.

So how did those petty games entertain you?
Sorry for my fading voice but my decayed throat cannot bear much more than this.

Cruel smiles or shocked gasps won't cover your true being, your goals.
I've stayed in this obscurity -for longer than I remember- watching you. I'm your lost faith, you fallen hero.

Your silly blog is what resulted in my existence, a corpse, a dead man with a hole tarnishing his clear porcelain forehead. You're the reason of a heart-break, for bleeding tears, for black clothing on sad devastated people. You caused that sigh of disgust coming from the full lips belonging to the woman wiping away that ugly hair laced brown blotch off the walls of that certain house.

You're the reason that taunts my six foot pearly white coffin.

You're sitting and typing away on your laptop, chatting about your latest love interest, swiping away loose strands of your hair a small smile playing on your lips as you wet them with subtle slow licks.

It's amazing how careless you can be, after killing a man and all.
Even if your didn't know it, you pulled the trigger.
You laid me in that coffin and threw away the shovel.

You.

The crackle under me increases as my extinguished eyes scan you once more.

Turn around.
Look.

Just one look.

I just want to see the same scream painted on my lips transmitted to yours. You maybe recognized the scene of the frozen lips broken apart in a frightening gawk from the pages of newspapers and websites, a scene that brought nightmares to the minds of many.
You painted that portrait using paints of lies and little words, lacking both grammar and coherent sentences. Descending from your lack of faith obstacles ascended to form the perfect road block paving my ever-so painful fall.
Nothing physically broke, only that my mind lost a pillar of its stability, rationality and logic.

Nothing was holding back my reckless revolt of emotions; nothing pushed back my hand as it reached for the black metal handle attached to the barrel holding death and bullets.

You didn't even take the time to notice the blurred finger at the corner of your bathroom mirror.

When the sudden heat tore the thin bone wall, you and them were the last thing on my mind.
The faith you said was lost never was. In fact it was intertwined with the veins of my heart and theirs, but as I pried myself away from them the bond was wounded, and now as I ripped the heart of my soul; it's still bleeding.

You never knew me, so how come you had the right to throw the first snowball that evoked the start of this sequence? Answer me.
How come you're the one who had to begin this wave of burning words and unusually spread scorn?
How come it all had to end up to me standing between the layers of black in your closet, waiting? Is it because of guilt?
Were you so guilty that I was damned to be your own boogie-man? To haunt you? To let the look on my hallow dead eyes chase you into your sleep? Be your own precious nightmare?

Your actions made this imprint of shame on my forehead and your want forgiveness?
I've been burned and ripped apart by the fangs of wolves stepping out of their wool adorned skins, and you want me to feed your conscience with baby lies and teenage apologies?

Gasp all you want when the view of the ones who really died on the inside hits your eyes and mind, but remember this...
You caused the leak in their once living faith; you started this by trampling your idol's decency.

If you had only seen my heart cripple as I fell down, little girl.

You killed me, little girl.
You killed me.

Here I am, sitting within these four walls, peering out of the ajar door your heart beats and high-pitched laughs merge into the silence sheltered within my ears.
Laugh your small heart out. Ignore my unhearable incoherent grumbles forming in the back of my throat.

Sing yourself to sleep by stabbing your conscience and the thought of me existing.
My words will sing you to sleep like always.
I'll sing for you, and sing for you, and sing for you from the depths of your room.

It's not everyday that Gerard Way is your worst nightmare. The reason the beating in your chest raises and the hair on your arms stand with every unexplainable breeze that passes your unclothed skin.

I'm watching you, girl. Tearing down my face and crumbling the colored paper before carelessly chucking it in the waste bin with a flick of your wrist.
Back to where I deserve in your mind.

It hurts.
You killed the hearts of millions because of that picture of me and my love.

A picture...

So I'll just watch you,
And watch you,
And watch you.
Until you see me opening your closet.

I'll always be here...
Like your lost faith.

I'll never leave your side.