I Need Something To Save Me (Gerard Way/MCR)

Pills.

Another day, another horrible day at his horrible school.
"Hey look, it's loser Gerard!" the boys would shout.
"Ew! He's ugly, fat and nerdy!" the girls would laugh.
The boys then proceeded to punch him in the face. He flinched as his eyes welled up.
"Awe, little Gerard is going home to cry to his mommy!" they sniggered.
"No, he's going to slit his wrists!" they chuckled.
"Cutter! Cutter! Cutter! Cutter!" they sang.
But all Gerard could think of was going home and getting stoned. He could almost feel the pills resting on his tongue, they always make him forget about the day. He could feel the cigarette between his fingers, brushing past his lips. The razor, slicing him to deliver the pain he felt he deserved. And the rope, so tight around his neck he could already feel himself jumping from the chair and flying in the air - his face turning blue. All the pain would be over! He anticipated suicide.
He sighed and took the stairs to the exit of hell. He turned to see a poster on the wall. It said, "don't condemn bullying, stamp it out!"
He scoffed, and a tear fell down is cheek. "I need something to save me."

He ran to his house, where he slammed his bedroom door and began flooding his mouth with pills and alcohol, and he lit up his cigarette.
"Maybe this time, it'll kill me."
he laughed, "but i'm never that lucky."
He opened his comic book; he was fond of those. They took his mind off of his tragic life for a moment or two. But it wasn't working, so he resorted to the most powerful...
His jaw ached, from where he was punched in the face. But more importantly, his heart hurt from all of the awful shit the bullies did. And what he did to himself.
He looked at himself in the mirror, and saw himself. But HE wasn't in the mirror. Inside, he wasn't the guy everyone hated. He wasn't the guy that hated himself. He wasn't the guy that everyone underestimated. The guy he was, however, was caged, caged in his emotionally unstable body.
Gerard wanted to find that guy, but he was certain it wouldn't happen.

Tears racing down his face, he walked to the bathroom. He opened his hiding box, where he found his extra stash of pills, drugs, his rope and his razors. Shaking, he took the razor and pulled down his sleeve, showing his scars. He began slicing his skin, the blood falling into the sink. "I need something to save me" he chanted.
He fell to the floor, hitting his head on the sink. Thousands of  suicide and pain rushed through his brain, until he passed out, his blood still flushing out of his wrists and into a puddle. He had no reason to live, there was no way of things getting better for him. It was over. So many suicidal thoughts corrupted his mind daily, like the feeling of drugs never leaving his mind.

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