[Originally posted by me writing as Manson for a celebrity roleplay group on LiveJournal, an account that's since been closed. Long live the King.]
i really don't know what i'm doing here
i really think i should've gone to bed tonight but...
just one drink
and there're some people to meet you
i think that you'll like them
i have to say we do
and i promise in less than an hour we will honestly go
now why don't i just get you another
while you just say hello...
yeah just say hello...
so i'm clutching it tight
another glass in my hand
and my mouth and the smiles
moving up as i stand up
too close and too wide
and the smiles are too bright
and i breathe in too deep
and my head's getting light
but the air is getting heavier and it's closer
and i'm starting to sway
and the hands on all my shoulders don't have names
and they won't go away
so here i go
here i go again...
falling into strangers
and it's only just eleven
and i'm staring like a child
until someone slips me heaven
and i take it on my knees
just like a thousand times before
and i get transfixed
that fixed
and i'm just looking at the floor
just looking at the floor
yeah i look at the floor
and i'm starting to laugh
like an animal in pain
and i've got blood on my hands
and i've got hands in my brain
and the first short retch
leaves me gasping for more
and i stagger over screaming
on my way to the floor
and i'm back on my back
with the lights and the lies in my eyes
and the colour and the music's too loud
and my head's all the wrong size
so here i go
here i go again...
yeah i laugh and i jump
and i sing and i laugh
and i dance and i laugh
and i laugh and i laugh
and i can't seem to think
where this is
who i am
why i'm keeping this going
keep pouring it out
keep pouring it down
and the way the rain comes down hard
that's the way i feel inside...
i can't take it anymore
this it i've become
this is it like i get
when my life's going numb
i just keep moving my mouth
i just keep moving my feet
i say i'm loving you to death
like i'm losing my breath
and all the smiles that i wear
and all the games that i play
and all the drinks that i mix
and i drink until i'm sick
and all the faces that i make
and all the shapes that i throw
and all the people i meet
and all the words that i know
makes me sick to the heart
oh i feel so tired...
and the way the rain comes down hard
that's how i feel inside...
-The Cure "Open"
I don't know why I went. I don't remember who was there. I couldn't tell you what I talked about or with whom. But I needed to get out, to get away from the noise in my head if only for a few hours. I'd been very good as of late, practicing my smile until it was almost perfect, until it'd rise naturally to my face when the situation called for it. I was pretty good at laughing too, though it sometimes sounded a little forced. It was Day 5 of 14 and I was recovering nicely from the wounds received in New Orleans. Not so nicely from the wounds I received prior to Mardi Gras, but the internal ones don't count, right? Anyway. I heard about this little shindig and I thought maybe I should go. You know, get out for awhile, blow off some steam. It wasn't doing me much good to sit in his room so much. I caught myself talking to him as if he were there several times too many. This was before I combed through his furniture looking to see if he left anything behind. I found a miniscule blue baggie with some powder in it and thought that maybe I should keep an eye on it until he got home. You know. Looking out for his best interests. Wouldn't want it to get lost or anything.
So I'm at this party. I don't recognize anyone though they all seem to know me. I've been drinking what tastes like turpentine on the rocks and trying to ignore the music. The DJ must be suicidal or something, as he's been playing every acoustic 80's ballad and 90's Homecoming Court dance song I can think of. Maybe it's an engagement party. Maybe it's a wedding I stumbled into by mistake, which would explain a hell of a lot. I'm in the bathroom partly because I needed to check my lipstick and partly because I needed to get away from the crush of people for a few minutes. I'm about to leave when I remember the coke in my pocket. The way I figure it, this couldn't get much worse, so I wait in line for a stall and carve up two nice lines on my compact. I once thought they were only good for touch ups, but little did I realize their tremendous drug use potential. I take the first line in halves and the moment it hits my throat I realize this isn't coke at all but probably crystal meth or something like it. God dammit. The last time I'd taken a line that felt like that I'd ended up in the hospital. But the second line is just laying there all by itself and I feel bad for it, so I snort it too and get the hell out of there before the attendant starts knocking to check on me. It's just that kind of party.
About fifteen minutes later I'm dangerously close to being completely incompatible with these people. Not that we had anything in common to start out with. I'm absolutely sure this is a wedding now. The bride's dress seems to be attacking her and there's far too much red in this room. I happen to be wearing red as well and the wallpaper matches me almost perfectly. For a moment I'm afraid I'm being assimilated into the decor and I flee to my car. The ride home takes about four times longer than it usually does, which gives me plenty of time to think. Exactly what I don't need to be doing. I'm way up now, but I'm not looking forward to the comedown. I make it home without incident and settle in to watch some television. The only thing I can find is M*A*S*H and I almost have my boots unlaced when my cell rings.
Three hours later I'm back in what used to be his room, in what used to be his bed. He called to tell me that he was moving out. And that he missed me. And other things. I don't know what to say at this point. I'm glad he called but hearing his voice made it so much worse, made the loneliness multiply in ways I hadn't counted on. The fucking meth isn't helping matters any. My mom always told me "Don't eat things you find" and I guess I should have listened to her, because it's been a fucking rough 48 hours-and-counting with no sleep and I pity anyone who has to be in contact with me for any reason. I need to get my face pieced back together again. My foundation's crumbling and the powder won't set it. Spackle for an underpinned smile.
I told him I'd been listening to the Cure a lot. I didn't tell him or anyone else just how much because it disturbs even me. "At least listen to Pornography", he said. He would deny me my Disintegration, but he who denied it supplied it.