Keep the Faith
Someone out there loves you.
An evening like this was spent with the aversion from warmth of familial greetings and regards, endless raining of torrential downpours of countless active pastilles of rain tears and only the somber red glow of the monotone sepia of his lamp shade to provide as his solemn light.
Rain was downcasting it's defenstration to the rubble asphalt streets of New Jersey. It accrued each second, as it also subdued the espionage of it's torrential terrain and algid winds simultaneously.
Holding the letter he received close to his heart, inside, he felt the respondent warmth of red ink stains printed on the silken threads of fresh typewriting paper. It tinged a monochromatic emblem that resounded a very dead answer.
He sat beside the flourescent lamp which in it's aim, cadenced waves of flickering ambience to illuminate the whole aura of the room. As tired as he was, he reached for the monotone sepia of adjacently dehydrated ink as he proceeded to write a reply.
Yet his eyes still were focused on the cascading ascent and descent of the caterwauling tears flickering onto each surface it may acquire a spacious solace to expand and increase in it's cloudy, omnious apse overhead.
A mundane life was all he ever had to live. Living up to an ailment was impossible to attain. Merely a life spawned from ridicules and brickbats was something he could never bear, or stand against. His vulnerability was nothing he was to be proud of.
This disease he had been convulsing all through each night without no one atoning alms or regards to his being provided solitary wounds to his heart, mending it with only unknown pills and medicines to cure him of his disdain.
Living up towards cancer only elicited the miniscule side of him, veiling his soul with tainted notions, and caterwauling verses which spat of the lies he knew before, yet he felt like they were the skeletons his realismic ordeals.
Because of his brutal disease, he was certain that demise would flip the hourglass of his life much too inevitably soon to even conceal it to anyone he trusted. He would prevaricate of his chilblains and aguements, as he wanted no one to worry about him.
His frequent visits to the chemo were not even taken of novice by his parents, yet one of them noticed he was commencing a paler skin tone than his usual olive-skinned saturation, yet he abnegated this with succession.
It was his sign that no solace in this world would capacitate the amount of sadness he conducted now. When news spread of his divulging disdain burst to aero-dynamical measure, he couldn't reply anything that sufficed happiness, or even summoned control.
All that fulfilled his happiness other than the sardonism he gave to the diatribe of his enemies and cads were the people whom he claimed condemned vespers of sheer treasure to his heart.
My Chemical Romance.
It did more than suffice as his mere confidantes and his divination ostracized from heraldry. MCR was more than his heroes. Everything he knew about them elicited his heart closer to them, and no matter what, he loved them unanimously without illustration of aid of an allege.
~
~
His eyes pongidaeted attentive toward the thousands of droplets and diamonds rivaling each other to meet the sinews of the windows' glass surfaces.
The chilblains augmenting atrocious pain commenced a sour pain forging into the stimulation of distorting, parsimonious pangs in the minor Metatarsals of his hand.
His fingers slid onto the glass, slowly eliciting the cadence of a ruminated prayer kept in heart. This also seconded the momentum of vulnerable tears, searing the flesh of his cheeks.
The hilt of his copathetic apathy halted also as he realised the raindroplets were flowing down to a tainted careen. Rapidly shutting the gossamer curtains framing the window, the boy got off the window seat and locked his door.
He silently whispered his own method of vespers which unlocked the sanity of his indulgence.
Scouring through photo albums, he shed mandatory tears as the memories of each conceptual visual replenished the most cherished moments of his life. They subdued a mantra of endless serendipity and of scenarios where he shall never leave.
Looking at the plethora of his contained solace, the boy rummaged through his old belongings and cherished them as he was still alive. His eyes captured a box containing a portable keyboard in it's cardboard borderings.
Taking it out of the box, the young boy proceeded to play as he remained still sane and sanguine. His fingers found the smooth surfaces of the ivory keys as they flickered onto the notes and beat rhythms of a song he truly loved.
Cancer by My Chemical Romance.
He ruminated in his playing as every hymn he made condemned the akimbo of euphoria that would succesfully guide toward his heart...if only it ever could. He randomly played to some aleatory cannonade that could exploit petards of entoxicated cabal toward his joy.
"Turn away...if you could give me a drink of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded, call my Aunt Marie..."
Singing in subordination to the song sent a throbbing chilblain toward his heart, cannonading gutter incineration which set bovine tears flattering the eyelashes lining his eyelids. These tears ran down his cheeks, reflecting his agony and desire to be saved.
"Help her gather all my things...and bury me in all my favorite colors. My sisters and my brothers still...I will not kiss you..."
He aimed for utter resilence in this verse of the song, since it spieled a much too meaningful inquisition that would lead to deeper imminece as his omnious defeat condemned a cabal to sadden him...make him fear of death.
"I don't want to leave..." He put down his keyboard and wept, untamed tears adorning the bridges of his cheeks and languishing onto the floor, every single drop staining the tainted wood.
The young man knew of how death would come for him some day, but he had no idea an ordeal such as that would become this painful to bear. Everything meant something deep inside his soggy heart. Even the iniquity and mutiny of his friends mattered to him.
He was never prepared to leave.
He was never prepared to die.
But he always wanted his loved ones to be safe. His pain rushed and flamed inside him, and exploded in it's spate. He could feel his little pulse close to silence and divulging it's red augmentation. He felt his tears stain his face...now they glistened Crimson.
Then...an angel's voice smoted the allure of the whole room. "'Cause the hardest part of this is...leaving you."
The boy could sense the tears climbing out of the voice of the vocalist, lissomely rivaling the agony the boy emoted. Subliminal apathy authorized the hallucinations of cessation to conquer the boy, yet he felt it was real.
"Dad?" He called out to he voice.
Gerard Way stepped from the door. "Son."
The boy was transfixed onto his weeping tears to even pay attention to his father. "How did you know I had Cancer?"
Gerard lovingly spoke to his spawn. "As a father, I always be sure no matter what I do you're always safe. I want you to be sure that I'll always be the only thing you'll never run away from. I'm always here for you...I'm in here."
Gerard's hand found his son's chestplate and felt his heart's corpuscles jibing and spating cranberry blood, profusely diminishing a solid momentum and rapidly beating to a eliptical thrust. Kerfufle and adrenaline racing each vein and capillary repeatedly in untamed beating.
"You'll always be in my heart, dad...I'm glad that you'll be there with me through everything I do, and through all that will fall upon me..." The boy's tears smoldered his face again.
The father and his son assaulted fear, pain and sorrow simultaneously. Their tears reflecting every emotion synomical to melancholia. Distorted from the flames making their eyes incinerate with sadness, both father and son embraced such a tight enclosing prayer.
Gerard guided a smile to his lips. "I'll do anyting for you. Even if you hid it from me and even hurt me, I'd still love you so much to give you another chance. I've been here to regain the aim of showing you that you'll alWays gain a second chance. But there'll come a time you can't receive another lesson which would regain the plaudit of your sanity. That is when you should realize life is taking its course. But in the end, it's alWays the best."
"Dad...I feel awful I never told you this before. I wanted no one to worry about me, so I kept it all to myself. I would usuAlly hide it by casting some face that makes me look okay...But now...I feel like..." The little boy's words slowly faded aWay...until he ended dead on his bed.
Gerard's tears reflected his agony as he saw his son unalive, not even intaking a gasp of breath. How he wished he died instead..."NO! Please don't leave...Son...you're still alive...Please be alive..."
LynZ interrogated the denouement as she entered the room. "Gee...what happened to--"
"DON'T SAY A WORD! That's my son! Dead! I can't leave him like that, Lyn! I..." Gerard smoted the whole allure of the room with an atmosphere of sadness and ribbons of tears to stain the floor.
His son was gone.
~
~
Edward's funeral was awful; of course, no funerals are great. What he was so afraid of the most...was that he was never able to say goodbye.
But it was never his fault. He understood that his son didn't want to be captivated with much attention, but he didn't understand why he kept it from his father.
Gerard knew his son didn’t understand death, but he probably didn't absorb the fact that his father was never going to hold him again.
His father wasn’t going to see him grow up to be successful and get all he ever wanted liberate in his world and maybe get married one day.
He wouldn’t be there to protect him from the pains that the rain may heath onto the facade of all bounded earth.
He wasn’t going to carry on what he promised to Gerard.
It smoted Gerard more than anything ever could.
It was an open casket. Gerard was last to see him and commit farewell regards. He held his dead son's hand tightly. God, he was so pale. Tears rolled down his tattered face. Gerard loved him so much. This wasn’t fair, Gerard thought.
“Daddy?” A tiny voice struck his well-auditory instinct. “Daddy...Stay right here...” The voice pleaded with him.
Cessations were being the skeleton of the dome masking Gerard from sheer joy, yet they mirrored the agony he was obtaining. The voice reflected the familiarity of Edward's personage.
The room was silent and staring at the broken father holding the cold fingers of his son's clamming hands.
“Please, Daddy...Stay.” Edward's voice was hoarse as he ascent from the dead.
“Edward.” Gerard said and held his hand hand out to his son, wishing desperately he would take it. “It’s time to go.” Gerard finished, his throbbing words shaking from the aching emotion. It was as if he had no good intention to ever speak or live without his son.
"Dad...stay. Don't leave me here." Edward's little voice echoed as if cessation bounded every minor aspect of this conversation with the dead.
Gerard let out a sob. “Son... you’re dead.”
He covered his mouth as soon as the words exited the cavity of his throat. Now it was true. Edward was dead.
“You’re dead.” He wept again.
The rose in his hand dried up. It's red pigment faded into burgundy...just like the ignition of his joy stood up and left.
"But son...I'll alWays be here." He held his hand over his chestplate, contemplating over his lonely beating heart.
He knew someday he would have to give up his whole atonement for the vulgar consitutions held strangled by time's brutal convulsions and gossamer spiels of demeaning truths.
"Life’s been so hard without you here standing by my side. Your mom feels the same Way...but she's not here to share this moment with me. It’s just not the same you know? But, I guess no life's the same. But it will alWays turn out for the best...I know you're happy up there. I'm proud of you, son. I've alWays believed in you...and no matter what, I'll alWays be with you...anywhere. Even up there in heaven, I'll smile toward the clouds, proud of you to be up there. My son. In heaven.”
Gerard gave his son's grave one last look:
Edward Ballato-Way
1997-2008
“'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.”
Rain was downcasting it's defenstration to the rubble asphalt streets of New Jersey. It accrued each second, as it also subdued the espionage of it's torrential terrain and algid winds simultaneously.
Holding the letter he received close to his heart, inside, he felt the respondent warmth of red ink stains printed on the silken threads of fresh typewriting paper. It tinged a monochromatic emblem that resounded a very dead answer.
He sat beside the flourescent lamp which in it's aim, cadenced waves of flickering ambience to illuminate the whole aura of the room. As tired as he was, he reached for the monotone sepia of adjacently dehydrated ink as he proceeded to write a reply.
Yet his eyes still were focused on the cascading ascent and descent of the caterwauling tears flickering onto each surface it may acquire a spacious solace to expand and increase in it's cloudy, omnious apse overhead.
A mundane life was all he ever had to live. Living up to an ailment was impossible to attain. Merely a life spawned from ridicules and brickbats was something he could never bear, or stand against. His vulnerability was nothing he was to be proud of.
This disease he had been convulsing all through each night without no one atoning alms or regards to his being provided solitary wounds to his heart, mending it with only unknown pills and medicines to cure him of his disdain.
Living up towards cancer only elicited the miniscule side of him, veiling his soul with tainted notions, and caterwauling verses which spat of the lies he knew before, yet he felt like they were the skeletons his realismic ordeals.
Because of his brutal disease, he was certain that demise would flip the hourglass of his life much too inevitably soon to even conceal it to anyone he trusted. He would prevaricate of his chilblains and aguements, as he wanted no one to worry about him.
His frequent visits to the chemo were not even taken of novice by his parents, yet one of them noticed he was commencing a paler skin tone than his usual olive-skinned saturation, yet he abnegated this with succession.
It was his sign that no solace in this world would capacitate the amount of sadness he conducted now. When news spread of his divulging disdain burst to aero-dynamical measure, he couldn't reply anything that sufficed happiness, or even summoned control.
All that fulfilled his happiness other than the sardonism he gave to the diatribe of his enemies and cads were the people whom he claimed condemned vespers of sheer treasure to his heart.
My Chemical Romance.
It did more than suffice as his mere confidantes and his divination ostracized from heraldry. MCR was more than his heroes. Everything he knew about them elicited his heart closer to them, and no matter what, he loved them unanimously without illustration of aid of an allege.
~
~
His eyes pongidaeted attentive toward the thousands of droplets and diamonds rivaling each other to meet the sinews of the windows' glass surfaces.
The chilblains augmenting atrocious pain commenced a sour pain forging into the stimulation of distorting, parsimonious pangs in the minor Metatarsals of his hand.
His fingers slid onto the glass, slowly eliciting the cadence of a ruminated prayer kept in heart. This also seconded the momentum of vulnerable tears, searing the flesh of his cheeks.
The hilt of his copathetic apathy halted also as he realised the raindroplets were flowing down to a tainted careen. Rapidly shutting the gossamer curtains framing the window, the boy got off the window seat and locked his door.
He silently whispered his own method of vespers which unlocked the sanity of his indulgence.
Scouring through photo albums, he shed mandatory tears as the memories of each conceptual visual replenished the most cherished moments of his life. They subdued a mantra of endless serendipity and of scenarios where he shall never leave.
Looking at the plethora of his contained solace, the boy rummaged through his old belongings and cherished them as he was still alive. His eyes captured a box containing a portable keyboard in it's cardboard borderings.
Taking it out of the box, the young boy proceeded to play as he remained still sane and sanguine. His fingers found the smooth surfaces of the ivory keys as they flickered onto the notes and beat rhythms of a song he truly loved.
Cancer by My Chemical Romance.
He ruminated in his playing as every hymn he made condemned the akimbo of euphoria that would succesfully guide toward his heart...if only it ever could. He randomly played to some aleatory cannonade that could exploit petards of entoxicated cabal toward his joy.
"Turn away...if you could give me a drink of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded, call my Aunt Marie..."
Singing in subordination to the song sent a throbbing chilblain toward his heart, cannonading gutter incineration which set bovine tears flattering the eyelashes lining his eyelids. These tears ran down his cheeks, reflecting his agony and desire to be saved.
"Help her gather all my things...and bury me in all my favorite colors. My sisters and my brothers still...I will not kiss you..."
He aimed for utter resilence in this verse of the song, since it spieled a much too meaningful inquisition that would lead to deeper imminece as his omnious defeat condemned a cabal to sadden him...make him fear of death.
"I don't want to leave..." He put down his keyboard and wept, untamed tears adorning the bridges of his cheeks and languishing onto the floor, every single drop staining the tainted wood.
The young man knew of how death would come for him some day, but he had no idea an ordeal such as that would become this painful to bear. Everything meant something deep inside his soggy heart. Even the iniquity and mutiny of his friends mattered to him.
He was never prepared to leave.
He was never prepared to die.
But he always wanted his loved ones to be safe. His pain rushed and flamed inside him, and exploded in it's spate. He could feel his little pulse close to silence and divulging it's red augmentation. He felt his tears stain his face...now they glistened Crimson.
Then...an angel's voice smoted the allure of the whole room. "'Cause the hardest part of this is...leaving you."
The boy could sense the tears climbing out of the voice of the vocalist, lissomely rivaling the agony the boy emoted. Subliminal apathy authorized the hallucinations of cessation to conquer the boy, yet he felt it was real.
"Dad?" He called out to he voice.
Gerard Way stepped from the door. "Son."
The boy was transfixed onto his weeping tears to even pay attention to his father. "How did you know I had Cancer?"
Gerard lovingly spoke to his spawn. "As a father, I always be sure no matter what I do you're always safe. I want you to be sure that I'll always be the only thing you'll never run away from. I'm always here for you...I'm in here."
Gerard's hand found his son's chestplate and felt his heart's corpuscles jibing and spating cranberry blood, profusely diminishing a solid momentum and rapidly beating to a eliptical thrust. Kerfufle and adrenaline racing each vein and capillary repeatedly in untamed beating.
"You'll always be in my heart, dad...I'm glad that you'll be there with me through everything I do, and through all that will fall upon me..." The boy's tears smoldered his face again.
The father and his son assaulted fear, pain and sorrow simultaneously. Their tears reflecting every emotion synomical to melancholia. Distorted from the flames making their eyes incinerate with sadness, both father and son embraced such a tight enclosing prayer.
Gerard guided a smile to his lips. "I'll do anyting for you. Even if you hid it from me and even hurt me, I'd still love you so much to give you another chance. I've been here to regain the aim of showing you that you'll alWays gain a second chance. But there'll come a time you can't receive another lesson which would regain the plaudit of your sanity. That is when you should realize life is taking its course. But in the end, it's alWays the best."
"Dad...I feel awful I never told you this before. I wanted no one to worry about me, so I kept it all to myself. I would usuAlly hide it by casting some face that makes me look okay...But now...I feel like..." The little boy's words slowly faded aWay...until he ended dead on his bed.
Gerard's tears reflected his agony as he saw his son unalive, not even intaking a gasp of breath. How he wished he died instead..."NO! Please don't leave...Son...you're still alive...Please be alive..."
LynZ interrogated the denouement as she entered the room. "Gee...what happened to--"
"DON'T SAY A WORD! That's my son! Dead! I can't leave him like that, Lyn! I..." Gerard smoted the whole allure of the room with an atmosphere of sadness and ribbons of tears to stain the floor.
His son was gone.
~
~
Edward's funeral was awful; of course, no funerals are great. What he was so afraid of the most...was that he was never able to say goodbye.
But it was never his fault. He understood that his son didn't want to be captivated with much attention, but he didn't understand why he kept it from his father.
Gerard knew his son didn’t understand death, but he probably didn't absorb the fact that his father was never going to hold him again.
His father wasn’t going to see him grow up to be successful and get all he ever wanted liberate in his world and maybe get married one day.
He wouldn’t be there to protect him from the pains that the rain may heath onto the facade of all bounded earth.
He wasn’t going to carry on what he promised to Gerard.
It smoted Gerard more than anything ever could.
It was an open casket. Gerard was last to see him and commit farewell regards. He held his dead son's hand tightly. God, he was so pale. Tears rolled down his tattered face. Gerard loved him so much. This wasn’t fair, Gerard thought.
“Daddy?” A tiny voice struck his well-auditory instinct. “Daddy...Stay right here...” The voice pleaded with him.
Cessations were being the skeleton of the dome masking Gerard from sheer joy, yet they mirrored the agony he was obtaining. The voice reflected the familiarity of Edward's personage.
The room was silent and staring at the broken father holding the cold fingers of his son's clamming hands.
“Please, Daddy...Stay.” Edward's voice was hoarse as he ascent from the dead.
“Edward.” Gerard said and held his hand hand out to his son, wishing desperately he would take it. “It’s time to go.” Gerard finished, his throbbing words shaking from the aching emotion. It was as if he had no good intention to ever speak or live without his son.
"Dad...stay. Don't leave me here." Edward's little voice echoed as if cessation bounded every minor aspect of this conversation with the dead.
Gerard let out a sob. “Son... you’re dead.”
He covered his mouth as soon as the words exited the cavity of his throat. Now it was true. Edward was dead.
“You’re dead.” He wept again.
The rose in his hand dried up. It's red pigment faded into burgundy...just like the ignition of his joy stood up and left.
"But son...I'll alWays be here." He held his hand over his chestplate, contemplating over his lonely beating heart.
He knew someday he would have to give up his whole atonement for the vulgar consitutions held strangled by time's brutal convulsions and gossamer spiels of demeaning truths.
"Life’s been so hard without you here standing by my side. Your mom feels the same Way...but she's not here to share this moment with me. It’s just not the same you know? But, I guess no life's the same. But it will alWays turn out for the best...I know you're happy up there. I'm proud of you, son. I've alWays believed in you...and no matter what, I'll alWays be with you...anywhere. Even up there in heaven, I'll smile toward the clouds, proud of you to be up there. My son. In heaven.”
Gerard gave his son's grave one last look:
Edward Ballato-Way
1997-2008
“'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.”