Second Place.
I can’t help but ask myself what happened to those days.
I find myself often thinking about a different time even when I’m sitting in the very epitome of the present. Seconds before I walk out onto the stage, I stop to think about it. Surrounded in the voice of a new metal age, a revolution of countries coming together for the sake of sound, I think about it. Laying down in unfamiliar places when we finally get the chance to rest, it’s in the head I lay on my pillow. I can’t help but wonder where things went wrong. How I got here, where I am and why it didn’t pan out the way I once imagined it to go.
I came home with an arm load, trekked up the heavy set of stairs into my empty apartment, alone. All we ever want after a tour is to get away from each other. Not that they aren’t like brothers, hell, nearly soul mates to that musical heart fluttering in my chest, but there is only so much you can take of 4 familiar faces before you just want some time to yourself. I had enough faces in my dreams to keep me occupied while they went on with their home lives. I escaped across the ocean, far away from this place for some length of time I didn‘t care to count. I can still remember a vivid period when I wouldn’t go home at all. The first place I always fled to was where a warm body would offer me something more than just a leopard print sheet that hadn’t been disturbed in months. If I came back here, it was because I knew someone was waiting for me. I never wanted to be here by myself. I didn’t even want to be in the god damn country anymore.
That’s right. I ran the fuck away from here. Gung ho, let’s go, take the Western world with my blood, sweat and raging sound. Blast out their ears, tear open my vocal cords, scream as loud as I can trying to reach higher than the top strings of Kaoru’s gorgeous riff. Fans think it’s cute when I writhe around on stage trying to express my sincerest regards to life. I could gut myself and they would cry out in awe. What a misunderstanding. I could rip the flesh off my bones and get a chorus of laughter from thousands. That’s me. Kyo, the fucking riot.
My bag of nonsense found it’s place in the spot it always does, disheveled and reserving the skinny space. A place that should have been occupied by someone who hadn’t been there for a long time now. That spot is so cold all the time, like the warmth walked out the god damn door too. Had I taken it with me? Was all of this my fault? Standing at the brink of a pitch black living space, the door came to a close and left me with nothing but shadows of moonlight flickering through the partially closed shades. How did this apartment become such an empty house instead of a home? Did I have myself to blame for so many mistakes or was it just the cruel mistress called life that enjoyed playing tricks on me. I couldn’t lick my lips enough to get them wet, but I couldn’t move from the doorway in order to fetch a glass of anything that might distract my thoughts.
When did my home stop being a place of refuge? How could it be that so much was taken away from me now, after I was so certain it would always remain that way. Warm. Comfortable. Sweet… I missed these things. I hadn’t felt them since I said good bye. If you could really call it a proper good bye at all. So many fucking mistakes.
Why did I say the things I did that day? What drove me to do it? That sad, pathetic, heart retching goodbye? The one that made me so sick I had to stay away from life itself for days at a time just to recover… and then I ran. Ran like the fucking storms in the sky. I think it almost killed me. A sweetness too bitter to keep on the tongue, I spit it right back out onto the concrete, forgetting how badly I needed it to be inside. I can almost feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
The shadows of my dimly lit apartment remind me of the answer. That’s right. Mister center of the fucking universe.
The anger sets in. That distinguished feeling I attached my bitterness to, jealousy. Outrage. Always in second place. I can’t fucking deal with second place. Not in this life and not in another. So why did it hurt so bad to be in no place at all?
My legs move, weak underneath my already diminished weight. I wasn't eating enough and I knew it. Still fresh ink carved into my body feels like just an echo of the reminder that even though I hated this feeling, I never wanted to forget where it came from. If I were to die tomorrow, at least the marks would remain on my decaying flesh. Set me in the fucking ground, pictures will tell the god damn story, no matter how many lies the eyes will tell. I find my way to the bathroom without a light to guide me through the interior I could have navigated blind. Decorative, storytelling fingers found the faucet, turned on the shower with a hiss of cold I could feel even feet away from the stream. Clothes were easy to get rid of, even in the dark, and when I slipped into the barely warming cascade of water, I knew that I was here again. Back in this forsaken country, where I could not escape the memory of what once was and could have been. I wonder if the water splashing diligently on my face is hiding tears or if I'm too stubborn to cry.
There will never be another one of you… So why did I leave?
I find myself often thinking about a different time even when I’m sitting in the very epitome of the present. Seconds before I walk out onto the stage, I stop to think about it. Surrounded in the voice of a new metal age, a revolution of countries coming together for the sake of sound, I think about it. Laying down in unfamiliar places when we finally get the chance to rest, it’s in the head I lay on my pillow. I can’t help but wonder where things went wrong. How I got here, where I am and why it didn’t pan out the way I once imagined it to go.
I came home with an arm load, trekked up the heavy set of stairs into my empty apartment, alone. All we ever want after a tour is to get away from each other. Not that they aren’t like brothers, hell, nearly soul mates to that musical heart fluttering in my chest, but there is only so much you can take of 4 familiar faces before you just want some time to yourself. I had enough faces in my dreams to keep me occupied while they went on with their home lives. I escaped across the ocean, far away from this place for some length of time I didn‘t care to count. I can still remember a vivid period when I wouldn’t go home at all. The first place I always fled to was where a warm body would offer me something more than just a leopard print sheet that hadn’t been disturbed in months. If I came back here, it was because I knew someone was waiting for me. I never wanted to be here by myself. I didn’t even want to be in the god damn country anymore.
That’s right. I ran the fuck away from here. Gung ho, let’s go, take the Western world with my blood, sweat and raging sound. Blast out their ears, tear open my vocal cords, scream as loud as I can trying to reach higher than the top strings of Kaoru’s gorgeous riff. Fans think it’s cute when I writhe around on stage trying to express my sincerest regards to life. I could gut myself and they would cry out in awe. What a misunderstanding. I could rip the flesh off my bones and get a chorus of laughter from thousands. That’s me. Kyo, the fucking riot.
My bag of nonsense found it’s place in the spot it always does, disheveled and reserving the skinny space. A place that should have been occupied by someone who hadn’t been there for a long time now. That spot is so cold all the time, like the warmth walked out the god damn door too. Had I taken it with me? Was all of this my fault? Standing at the brink of a pitch black living space, the door came to a close and left me with nothing but shadows of moonlight flickering through the partially closed shades. How did this apartment become such an empty house instead of a home? Did I have myself to blame for so many mistakes or was it just the cruel mistress called life that enjoyed playing tricks on me. I couldn’t lick my lips enough to get them wet, but I couldn’t move from the doorway in order to fetch a glass of anything that might distract my thoughts.
When did my home stop being a place of refuge? How could it be that so much was taken away from me now, after I was so certain it would always remain that way. Warm. Comfortable. Sweet… I missed these things. I hadn’t felt them since I said good bye. If you could really call it a proper good bye at all. So many fucking mistakes.
Why did I say the things I did that day? What drove me to do it? That sad, pathetic, heart retching goodbye? The one that made me so sick I had to stay away from life itself for days at a time just to recover… and then I ran. Ran like the fucking storms in the sky. I think it almost killed me. A sweetness too bitter to keep on the tongue, I spit it right back out onto the concrete, forgetting how badly I needed it to be inside. I can almost feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
The shadows of my dimly lit apartment remind me of the answer. That’s right. Mister center of the fucking universe.
The anger sets in. That distinguished feeling I attached my bitterness to, jealousy. Outrage. Always in second place. I can’t fucking deal with second place. Not in this life and not in another. So why did it hurt so bad to be in no place at all?
My legs move, weak underneath my already diminished weight. I wasn't eating enough and I knew it. Still fresh ink carved into my body feels like just an echo of the reminder that even though I hated this feeling, I never wanted to forget where it came from. If I were to die tomorrow, at least the marks would remain on my decaying flesh. Set me in the fucking ground, pictures will tell the god damn story, no matter how many lies the eyes will tell. I find my way to the bathroom without a light to guide me through the interior I could have navigated blind. Decorative, storytelling fingers found the faucet, turned on the shower with a hiss of cold I could feel even feet away from the stream. Clothes were easy to get rid of, even in the dark, and when I slipped into the barely warming cascade of water, I knew that I was here again. Back in this forsaken country, where I could not escape the memory of what once was and could have been. I wonder if the water splashing diligently on my face is hiding tears or if I'm too stubborn to cry.
There will never be another one of you… So why did I leave?