Woe Is Me.
First & Last.
"Cause I don't wanna be like this. I've been running these streets for too long now. I've got nothing that's true, but this song now. But the further I go, I wanna go home."
His dull blue eyes fluttered open, an aching pain immediately making its way up his spine and to his head. He hissed, snapping his eyelids shut as he ran a hand over his messy auburn curls. The sun was shining outside and into his room through the window.
He didn't move much, except to roll onto his back. His eyes burned due to the brightness and he squinted as he stared at his bedroom's ceiling.
"I fuckin' swear that I care but its hard when you stare into the bottom of a bottle that is empty and bare. All my desolate soul in my desolate home, it's my desolate role.Yeah, I'm here all alone. I can't think of a reason to get the fuck out of bed. Curtains closed, lights are off; Am I alive or dead?"
He sighed and let his head roll. His gaze traveled to the empty space beside him.
He could no longer smell her scent and the comforter on her side wasn't neatly made like usual. It almost bothered him, until he noticed the bottle of whiskey sitting on her nightstand. It was only half-filled, but it would do. Stretching a tattooed arm out, he wrapped his long fingers around the glass container and was thankful that there was no lid. He quickly bright it to his lips.
"I haven't shaved in a week, I always slur when I speak. Tolerance at its peak. Another fifth just to sleep. oh woe is me, woe is me, I guess I need love. Hoes ya see, hoes ya see. I'm just in a rut, and I swear I'm trying, baby, please baby, don't leave. God-damn, I'm a fuck-up but I guess that's just me. So I sit in my room and I'll cry in my bed, thinkin' about all the shit that made me wrong in my head. I keep trying to climb but it seems so steep. Pour myself a fuckin' whiskey and go back to sleep... bitch."
The alcohol burned his throat, but he was used to the feeling by now. For months now, this had been his life.
Booze. Maybe writer a little, but not likely unless one of his band-mates called to pester him about new material. Bar. Strip-club. More booze. Pass out somewhere, hopefully in his own home. And repeat.
He took a nice long gulp before swallowing. The pounding head ache seemingly faded away and he was pleased with himself.
"I watch my momma cry, she says, 'baby why?.' I say 'baby died, baby's gone like a suicide.' I don't think you'll see him soon, Mom. Stay out my room, Mom. Tell Daddy that I hate that mother fucker like you, Mom."
His cell phone bounced against the wood of his bedside table as it vibrated. He groaned lowly, not wanting to be bothered, and reluctantly reached for it.
His eyes widened only slightly when he saw her name and number flashing across the screen. Still cradling the bottle of liquor in his arm as if it were his child, his thumb grazed the 'talk' button. It was surprising, really, especially after nearly three months.
He accepted the call and made sure to put her on speaker phone.
"I sing this shit for you, Danny, Sasha and Jordan. These beers keep getting warmer every time that I hold 'em. I pour this out for you like a partner in crime. It's part of the times when you're sick in the mind. Yeah I'm sick, oh so sick. I'm so sick of this shit. Yeah I'm lit, oh so lit. I'm so fucked up off it so I stumble around 'til I stumble, fall down to this puddle of my tears laying here on the ground."
"Hello?" Her voice was soft and quiet, almost hesitant. "George, are you there?"
He didn't respond, only smiled.
She had swore to never talk to him again, especially after he put his hands on her.
He was a fuck-up. A loser. A nobody.
"when you've got nothing left, you've got nothing left to lose. With my last left single breath, I'll still be singing to you. So when you bury me, man, you better bury me deep and sing along to this song because you're broken like me."
"George..." She paused, letting a shaky breath escape her lips. "I heard that song you wrote about me."
He smirked even wider. He so desperately wanted to tell her that no, George was not here. Because when she left, she took George Ragan with her.
Johnny Three Tears was the only one left at this residence.
"And I wanna go back to the start, back where we started from. And I know it's been so long. I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong all along."