Merci Pour Le Venin.
So give me all your poison, and give me all your pills.
GERARD'S POV.
I stood in the shower for what seemed like forever and a day, my forehead against the cold tiled wall, the sharp almost burning hot water; hitting against my hunched spine, the water was throwing daggers in my back. Betrayed. A deep twisting pain went through that organ called my heart, just a group of tissues; because that’s all it is, an organ in my body, pumping away, incapable of feeling emotions. I refuse to think that you can ‘give it to someone’ as a declaration of your love. Been there, done that, got the motherfucking t-shirt. Hah! How ridiculous of me to mourn over teenage heartbreak. My heart wasn’t broken, if it were, I’d be dead. The thought of actually being dead has run through my mind countless times; but this was different, this wasn’t suicidal ideation, it was confronting the concept of my soul, my spirit if you’d like, actually dead, that I were just a barely functional body, dragging through day to day life – I wasn’t alive, I was dead to the world, sucked in by depression, spiralling down into the hell that is mental illness and addiction. I laughing bitterly at myself, what a sob story I was.
FRANK'S POV.
Morning greeted me with a familiar stranger kissing down my neck whispering in my ear, thoughts that make me wiggle in disgust. He was last night’s toy, and right then I wanted him out of my bed and I wanted to scrub myself clean of my shame – he got what he wanted, and so did I. I stretched and ran my hand through my hair that was standing on all ends; looked into his empty grey eyes with my upper lip curled up, “you can let yourself out”. Yanking yesterdays (and about 3 days before that) clothes from my floor, I slumped to the kitchen to find breakfast. Yanking a stale Poptart from it’s wrapper, I regretted being such a cheap bastard prostitute; I only asked that closeted faggot for a few grams of weed. I gulped the last of my black coffee down to mask the taste of mouldy pastry.
* * * * *
Mania had me flying from wall to wall, and so I was thrashing Pansy around and smashing her down on the floor; strumming until my fingers bled. It was a garage gig but I played like I was in a stadium; jumping on Bob’s drum set, almost breaking both our necks, screaming into the mic and having a riff-off with Ray. After I was in my studio apartment that was smothered in filth, crashing down to a low with my head sunk in my pillow; hollering in agony over the deep depression in my chest. Bipolar sucks, and I had a few choices…Drugs, alcohol or sex. Hmm, all three please.
I stood in the shower for what seemed like forever and a day, my forehead against the cold tiled wall, the sharp almost burning hot water; hitting against my hunched spine, the water was throwing daggers in my back. Betrayed. A deep twisting pain went through that organ called my heart, just a group of tissues; because that’s all it is, an organ in my body, pumping away, incapable of feeling emotions. I refuse to think that you can ‘give it to someone’ as a declaration of your love. Been there, done that, got the motherfucking t-shirt. Hah! How ridiculous of me to mourn over teenage heartbreak. My heart wasn’t broken, if it were, I’d be dead. The thought of actually being dead has run through my mind countless times; but this was different, this wasn’t suicidal ideation, it was confronting the concept of my soul, my spirit if you’d like, actually dead, that I were just a barely functional body, dragging through day to day life – I wasn’t alive, I was dead to the world, sucked in by depression, spiralling down into the hell that is mental illness and addiction. I laughing bitterly at myself, what a sob story I was.
FRANK'S POV.
Morning greeted me with a familiar stranger kissing down my neck whispering in my ear, thoughts that make me wiggle in disgust. He was last night’s toy, and right then I wanted him out of my bed and I wanted to scrub myself clean of my shame – he got what he wanted, and so did I. I stretched and ran my hand through my hair that was standing on all ends; looked into his empty grey eyes with my upper lip curled up, “you can let yourself out”. Yanking yesterdays (and about 3 days before that) clothes from my floor, I slumped to the kitchen to find breakfast. Yanking a stale Poptart from it’s wrapper, I regretted being such a cheap bastard prostitute; I only asked that closeted faggot for a few grams of weed. I gulped the last of my black coffee down to mask the taste of mouldy pastry.
* * * * *
Mania had me flying from wall to wall, and so I was thrashing Pansy around and smashing her down on the floor; strumming until my fingers bled. It was a garage gig but I played like I was in a stadium; jumping on Bob’s drum set, almost breaking both our necks, screaming into the mic and having a riff-off with Ray. After I was in my studio apartment that was smothered in filth, crashing down to a low with my head sunk in my pillow; hollering in agony over the deep depression in my chest. Bipolar sucks, and I had a few choices…Drugs, alcohol or sex. Hmm, all three please.
♠ ♠ ♠
I figured I'd use song lyrics as most of the titles to the chapters, so uh yeah.This is basically just a chapter so you understand the characters more, and then the plot will start appearing later on.
-Sazzie
xo