Heaven On The Brain

Things that cannot speak

Gingerfish's P.O.V:

Behind the drum set, hidden from them, I could see all. I was able to absorb every piece of information, every movement, every sound.

We were on the third song, Tourniquet, a song that I knew could of been traumatic for some of the fragile fans...including a few of the band. Though all these emotions were unavoidable we knew we had to cope.

Something felt off...almost like the air had become humid with the stretch of death. Though my hands grasped the familiar drum sticks and hit, producing that echoing bang with no flaws, my mind was packed to the brim with anxiousness and doubt.

What was happening?

-

Twiggy's P.O.V:

"She's made of hair and bone and little teeth, the things that cannot speak"

Somehow tears could always manage to prick at my eyes with that opening line. Those fucking lyrics...the way my fingers automatically strum at my bass, creating that hollow sound that always rang through my brain. A song that brought back the most painful memories...

I glanced over to Manson. His greasy, black hair flew as his neck jolted with every head bang. He screeched the lyrics with so much power I was certain his lungs could of burst. This song surely didn't effect them as much as me, so I attempted to ignore the mental stab in my chest.

-

Zim Zum's P.O.V:

"Take your hatred out on me, make your victim my head...You never ever believed in me. I am your tourniquet!"

I looked over to Twiggy who mutely stared at Manson like he was watching a porno. I tipped my head back to notice Pogo, his head violently swinging side to side as he held his wooden drum sticks, clamped between his teeth. His fingers pressing away at those keys without a glance to them.

It was going okay. The crowd roared and whistled like their existence relied on it. My frantic worry had begun to subside...

But only for a while...