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We were mighty then. Thumbs looped through ragged belt-loops, lips supporting dangling fags. We were fearless. But we were so afraid. Oh, how the mighty fall. Oh, the mountainous bullshit of it all. Here’s my pager number. Give it a call. I’ll meet you at the corner.
Trust me, we’ll have a ball.
Folly. Volley. Pass it to me, and I’ll pass it back to you. Too young to know the truth – never too young to scream. FUCK! YOU! I can drink a forty in less than forty seconds. As long as it’s warm.
Who the fuck cares?
Hear that distorted minor chord?
I’m gonna use it to beat you senseless.
And fuck you and your jock-ass friends. We came here to make amends. To sway and lean against each other, friends. We came for support. This ain’t a contact sport. This is important – why don’t you understand how important this is? I’m staring out over a hundred heads, sweating. But they’re not picking up what I’m laying down. They’re taking.
What are they getting?
Are you aiding? Or abetting? Or will you strike a pose of supposed righteousness with me and my crew? We’re half chicks, and we’re not going to fuck with you. That’s not what we do.
Slugs off the whiskey tit? Sure, I’ve had a few.
How can there be such beauty in self-destruction? I’ll tell you, but you won’t listen. But I’ll tell you anyway.
Look. There’s only so much anger one boy can absorb. There’s only so much pain you can pretend to ignore. It’s got to go somewhere. And I didn’t want it hurting anyone else. So, I took one for the team, blood running down my arm in one long, thin scream.
I’m not saying it’s noble. It’s fucking retarded. You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t know that then?
I didn’t know any other way to get them to listen.
And it didn’t even work.
I’m not Christ. It was selfish. But at least we weren’t busting heads in the pit. At least I wasn’t calling some kid a faggot because that’s what my Dad called me. Naw, I blew those brain cells away with stagnant, pulsing apathy.
It didn’t do anybody any good, but it didn’t do much harm. Put that on my tombstone. Carve THAT onto my fucking arm.
“He didn’t do much good, but it could have been a whole lot worse.”
Now, I gotta go. Show’s over. My ride’s here. And, yeah, I know it looks like a hearse.