I always leave some room at the table for you. You perch and gawk at who comes to the show. You always arrive, but never truly get there. Resentment, that’s what you feel when people work their nerves to the bone to spoil you rotten. You said: “I never want people to compare me to someone else.” When I’ve seen you, and I’ve watched like TV for years… you’re not really attempting anything new.
You’re the vessel that’s pumped up by a user. You’re that old bathroom soap dispenser that never got a refill. You’re sitting there alone and spent waiting for the janitor to replenish you. The idiot that’s always becoming a carbon copy of another high, depressed, stage presence who couldn’t choose the right kind of people.
I always leave laughter in my wake, laughing at the many times that you’re such a disappointment.
People have never hated you. People have always protected you. They’ve lied for you and said you were just having a “rough day”.
I always leave space in my judgment to see if you’ll change, but you’re just lonely. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that you’ll choose a jerk to be with before committing yourself to those who actually built the monster you are.
I always leave so that I won’t judge you too harshly. I don’t like what you’ve become. You reek of marijuana or booze, or both. I’ve stopped guessing which one.
Your attention span is like the eye of a hurricane, calm and peaceful for a few seconds and when that brief period ends you’re the attack dog blaming others because you’ve gotten so used to the lies you tell yourself.
I always leave before the work starts and ends. I’ll show right before the party actually starts, if it ever starts. I won’t ever volunteer to help make it better.
I might shatter a nail, or maybe I’ll upset my boyfriend or my girlfriend. Just who ever might idolize me for this moment…
God knows, they must be more like me than I am myself.
I always leave hope in my voice when I tell you what the lover of yours does to you. Hoping against hope that you see that they use you because they are more alone than you.
I always leave room for people to learn the difference between being alone and being lonely.
When you’re just alone, you don’t need a constant network of worshippers putting you on a pedestal taking your money, and confusing your thoughts. You’re just by yourself making your own way.
I always leave out the lonely. I know what lonely is. Lonely is getting wasted and baked every night because it’s all you know. Lonely is being high together because as long as you and he or she and him… are riding in the car numbing your brains to SZA, Rihanna, and Drake, whatever the beat is… you don’t have to be concerned about your own self-destructive tendencies.
I always leave room for your envy. You envy age in some way. Some of you envy maturity. Because you’re always trying to look older and sexier than you should be—–because you are too obsessed with yourself—- dying your hair, keeping some hairstyle that you should have rid yourself of years ago… tattooing your skin, idolizing idiots with emotional problems—to know what you want.
I always leave. That’s what you do. You don’t stick around for the life that’s taking shape in front of you. Sure you should be having having fun because you’re aging, but you’ve haven’t learned that every adult to mature must pay the cost to be a boss.
I leave— you. You with the chip on your shoulder that you think others are blind to see. The mousy coyness that’s actually some blend of derision and boredom.
But I see it, and you don’t have to say that sometimes the only thing you know how to be is an a**hole. My Chemical Romance wrote songs about you people.
Because the drugs never work
They’re gonna give you a smirk
‘Cause they got methods of keepin’ you clean
They gonna rip up your heads
Your aspirations to shreds
Another cog in the murder machine
They said all
The living shit out of me
They could care less
As long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone
But not me
Lyrics by Gerard Way, My Chemical Romance (2006)
Many people are great pretenders. Liars and manipulators are “teenagers”. The smirk is always the sign that you’re about to be maligned. Caring isn’t what is going on, they are trying to survive. And violence is their only method of communication.
Are you the Otho Fenlock come to damage my expectations? If you are I leave you, strangled in your own miasma of red hot bloodshot mood-destabilizing gruel, yes you’re the angry, apathetic fool who sells your soul to attention rather than altitude. And I leave you—no satisfaction.