Cutting Edge (Frerard)

34

Gerard.

•

I wonder who the guy who called him was, I'm a little scared he'll take my Frank away from me. It's probably nothing but I need to stay alert.

I loved Frank, a lot. I wanted to be his one and only, I wanted to make perceivable art with him. Music was his passion, most arts performing and visual were mine.

Apparently I could sing, and obviously he could play.

If we had a band what would we call it? Who'd be in it?

I guess I'll never know.

I'm too scared of big stages.
If I can't handle a needle, I can't handle a stage.

I know Frank can handle a needle though, many types. Heroin to stick' n'pokes. He could handle a stage, maybe he could teach me?

•

4am. I'm up writing songs about anything I could think of, love and pain.

I was thinking about my comic I made. Maybe I should show it to Frank?  It might inspire some music.  I called it 'I brought you my bullets, you brought me your love.'
Maybe, just maybe I'll make it.

-

The next day at school I had writing all over my arms, every small plan I've made. I need to show Frank.

What if he's with the other people?
The scary punk people..

I'll find him later.

I felt a surge of jealousy wash over me, he's mine. What if they make him love them too much.

My breathing got heavier and quicker.
No, I'm not having a panic attack over this this is dum- nope, nope I definitely am.

Fuck. I need Frank. I can't breathe. I'm going to die.

Shit. Shit. Shit.