“You can’t keep doing this.”
Like hell I can’t. Drug addled and oversexed, I’m hardly awake while you talk to me. Cities and landmarks go by that I don’t even notice, doing eighty down the California coastline, going home, playing shows on the way.
“I’ve been there, you know,”
Yeah, when we first met.
You were beautiful and fucked up, high on whatever they were giving out, and you loved me. For that one night you loved me more than anyone else and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Of course, now you’re clean, now you can tell me how far I’ve fallen.
You were there.
You are here.
I am there.
Hello world. Did you miss me?
We didn’t sleep that night. We staggered back to your apartment, You’re three years older than me, you had your own place. The sun was rising and drunkenly, you asked me to look at it. I didn’t know if I was looking at anything at all.
I’ve just gone downhill from there.
“Brian, I don’t want to see you die.”
Jump to that night.
Another night, another show, another after party. Everyone wants a piece of me, and I’m drunk enough and high enough to let it happen. Boys, girls, something in between it doesn’t matter anymore, I’ll take it. You sit back, you stand in the back of the room with your Cherry Wine and watch. Three glasses, and you’re out on the bus, an early night, someone has to make sure we get home safe.
Sometime, you take me into your arms, awake but not coherent, I have no idea where my clothes have run off to, and you dress me and put me on the couch.
You beg me- Don’t die. Please don’t die.
Jump to afternoon.
I haven’t slept in days. I’m laying back in your arms, staring dazedly out the window, a cigarette perched between two fingers, alcohol in my other hand. I’m in a fight almost as soon as we get off the bus, some kids calling me a faggot. I play that night’s show with bruises on my arms, drunk and just a little bit high.
Another little part of me, killed off in the name of self destruction and a good time.
I laugh through the after party, killing myself just a little bit more, kiss you goodnight at two in the morning. I’m still wide awake, the debauchery of the party has gotten to my head, everything’s funny. You try to drag me with you, and I shrug you away, I don’t want to sleep just yet. So you pick me up and carry me to the bus, and inebriate me with sleeping pills that may or may not mix well with what I’ve already taken. You know by this point I’ll swallow anything you put in my mouth.
Go ahead, take that the wrong way, it’d just be true.
And ten minutes out of the party, I’m dropping off, nodding my head to the purr of the bus engines, your hands in my hair, sending me off to the first sleep I’ve had in days, the first dream not be a drug induced hallucination.
My dream is your lullaby to me, the words with which you drag me away every night from my suicidal fun and games.
Don’t die, don’t die. Please don’t die.