Keep the Faith

His life was like a candle about to burn out; dull and blue.

We would all watch…wait…for the light to finally fizzle into bleak darkness; looking with certain dread at the dark smoke of death swirl above him. Sometimes life would briefly return. The vibrant oranges and reds would dance along the edges of the light blue, revealing in small doses the soul that still clung to life in that valley of blackness. We would all be blinded by the hopeful light. Thinking foolishly it would grow into the flame that burned in the beginning of his journey. But with every line of coke, and with every passion filled scream from unwanted loves, the rays of hope dwindled to almost nothing.

It was ironic. The name Gerard Arthur Way made millions of fans jump for utter joy, while the man behind the name could do nothing to bring natural happiness to his tormented mind and soul. He put on a happy face, of course, but not for his own sanity, but for others. For his fans, for his mom, for us- his band. He had to keep that message of hope strong; that no matter what bullshit we go through, we are strong enough to persevere. He was that ray of hope for so many kids; but he was living above his means. He seemed to have all the hope for the world, but none of himself. No break for him…no room to break down. No room for mistakes. It ate him up quicker.

Even when he did allow the dark features of his insides wash over his face, no one accepted him. Those fans…those people who said they understood…pointed their fingers in accusation and screamed “arrogant”. They surrounded him. Cornered him. Backed him into the wall. They chanted lies about him- stirring it all in a caldron of shit, half fueled by his girlfriend’s bull.

“He’s drinking again!” They would shout.

“He thinks he is too good to meet us!”

“He is a liar!”

They took their shots with no remorse; treating him exactly the way they were treated in the unforgiving halls of school and society. Because he was a hero…he was not allowed to make mistakes. His mask was to be tattooed to his face; but didn’t they remember….he was afraid of needles? Did that even matter to them in the end? Maybe that was just the curse of the hero; doomed to be stricken down by the people he tried to save.

So, eventually, he just gave in. He tattooed the masked to his face and numbed the fear with cocaine. He fucked girls with no emotion and looked upon his own fans with dead eyes and a cool smile. He hid it all with that smile…with the energy of the show- his sweaty black locks and equally black clothing. He gave his fans him- whole. He poured every bit of light he didn’t have into his shows- made it the best damn performance each time…

But that wasn’t good enough. Cause no mask is ever that perfectly crafted. Because the bigger he got, the more so called “insider blogs” would appear. Isn’t it funny? They called him a liar when all this time it was they who lied…

We were too blind to see how bad it was…too stressed out with tour schedules, fan meetings, interviews. You have to understand that the rock-star life isn’t as glamorous as the magazines make it out to be. Sacrifices were made in the effort to keep the music alive. People were sacrificed…we were…he was….

Maybe in the end that’s why Mikey left; because he saw the blood being shed. He saw the amount Gerard was giving was ten times more than us. Maybe he just couldn’t stomach watching someone he loved bleed to death with no way to help. Maybe he just new…it was too late…

…Maybe we all should have stopped…

Gerard…came to me, because he said I was the only one who could ever understand him. We was on a deeper level than the other band mates cause of our similar personalities; I could talk to him better than any girlfriend because I could see past the cold hazel eyes. When he kissed me, he meant it, and not because he was gay- but because we had that emotion for each other. It was the only thing that ever felt alive about him. Everything else had died at that point…

But I was too wrapped up in making sure the fans would still have faith in the band. I was the only one meeting them after shows-dead tired and sick- while he snorted coke off some skank’s back. I slowly began to resent him for it. I relished in the chants from fans that called my name and not his- even though he was the hero. I was blinded by my own flame burning, that I ignored the fact…his was on its last breath.

So when he came to me, I shut him out…

“Frank, I have some problems-“

“Fuck off, what problems could you possibly have?” I snarled, brushing past him and to the fridge.

He didn’t look at me, but I saw with sick amusement at how his arms went limp immediately.

“Frank, you know me…you know I need help.”

“Gerard.” He turned to look at me. “You have been through this a hundred times, huh? Fucking ran back to drugs and drinking every time the going got tuff, right? You lied to our fans, you shut people out, you are fucking coke addict now! You are a fucking failure.”

I pointed to the screaming fans beyond the metal gates, “Those people, they don’t want you anymore. They are done with you! Because they know what you are now. A lying addict who can’t get over himself for one fucking second to realize he isn’t the only one with problems!”

His body flinched and convulsed when the venom of my words reached his ears and infected his blood stream. I don’t remember why I said it, or why I put meaning into those glass words. I want to find an excuse for it; maybe even a hidden reason? No one would ever hear such filth come from a friend’s mouth. But by the time I realized the error of my ways, the damage was done.

He looked towards the darkness of the venue parking lot, “You’re right Frank. That’s exactly what I am. Only I can free myself from these chains.” He smiled, and for a second I saw the flames of life grow a bit, “thanks Frank. I knew I could count on you for honesty.”

He wrapped his arms around me, tightly, nuzzling his face into my head. “Frank, I love you.”

“Yeah. Sure.” I sighed and returned the hug weakly.

We departed for the night- he to bed to cool down from his high and me to the fans to cool down their raging hatred for him. I noticed the brisk wind that passed through me that night as I signed their tickets and pictures. It was cold and brutal, attacking my bones to the core. I looked to the unlit sky, wondering where all the watchful stars had gone; all had finally fizzled out. No one will ever know how empty I felt when my eyes traveled back to earth. Back to the tour bus were Gerard laid asleep; still with his mask…still in pain.

I walked back to the gold makeshift home, alone. The only sound was my feet against the black concrete; echoing like a cackle throughout the darkness. The tour bus was asleep; no one graced the night with me. I walked to the bunk area and looked at Gerard’s sleeping shadow in the bunk above mine.

“Gerard, I’m sorry for what I said to you,” I sighed, “I love you too.”

I crawled into my bunk, thinking my soul had been cleared of its sin. Getting comfortable under my warm covers and falling asleep instantly; a smile on my face for no apparent reason. I saw life returned to my friend; and like all the times before I was blinded. So fucking blinded…

Undetermined hours later, I was awaken by something wet coming in contact with my pale face…

Tap

It announced against my head…

Tap...Tap…

I shook my head and tentatively brought my hand to touch the substance. It was thick and sticky against my fingers, and it begged my eyes to open. Green eyes came in contact with the reddest red I had ever seen in nature. Beautiful and shiny. It glistened against the new morning sun…hypnotizing me. Blood…life…on my fingers…

I looked up…

Dark red seeping through from the bunk above me. Gallons of the stuff. I froze. Scared. Worried. Begging I was in a dream. It had to be a dream, right? No human has that much blood in them?

I climbed out of my bed…staring at the covered bunk above mine. Dream. I was dreaming. I climbed up the ladder slowly; the creeks from the aged metal sent daggers against my body as they echoed through the empty sleeping area. I clutched the curtain- I was dreaming- taking a breath as to remind myself that I was, actually, breathing. And pulled back the dark fabric…

I wasn’t dreaming…

I was in a nightmare…

I trembled at the sight that had attacked my eyes; the sight so horrific I almost puked up a week worth of food. But I couldn’t. I could only stand on the ladder and stare at my best friend’s body. I don’t even remember screaming- I opened my mouth to…but nothing would come out. Just dry heaves that lasted a second. Tears stung my eyes…falling down my face in different directions.

Had to be a joke, right?

“Gerard,” I finally found my voice, “Gerard, real funny!” I laughed and crawled onto the bed, feeling the blood squish beneath my pressure. “Gerard, nice joke! Almost had me there. But come on, you can’t fool me.”

Don’t remember when I started sobbing…

Maybe it was when I saw his face…

His beautiful face cut in different jagged directions- chunks of skin actually ripped off, leaving only patches of blood and tissue amongst little slits and cuts. The attacked continued down his torso where blood was still flowing from a deep cut in his stomach. His arms were dry and slashed with old cuts re-opened, and new ones that were starting to dry. His wrists were completely open; veins sticking out, sending out small gurgles of blood against his body…

And clutched…in his hand…like a microphone…was a razor…

That’s when I screamed: “NO!” I lay on his cold wet body, sobbing- my salty tears mixing with his beautiful blood.

“No, Gerard!” I shouted, “Why! Why did you do this to yourself! Why Gerard!”

But he never answered…

I opened my eyes and saw written into the wall…in his blood. The word that tied this all together. The word that was used with so much poison. The word that left the mouths of the people who were supposed to fucking believe in him!

FAILURE

I picked myself off his body…and started beating him. “I lied! I lied! I told you I fucking lied!” Nothing. He never responded. He didn’t punch back. His body didn’t bruise. Fuck, he didn’t even laugh at my feeble attempts to smack sense into him. Nothing. His voice was dead now. Finally…dead…

Someone grabbed me and pulled off the bunk and onto the floor. I laid there- drenched in his blood, sobbing like a child till it physically hurt. No one spoke. The other bodies that possessed the room with me were as shocked as I was, but had no means to express their anger, sadness, and desperation.

He was dead…and the tragic thing was…

It took ten thousand people to hate him…but it would have only taken one to save him.