Title: At your funeral
Disclaimer: I am broke and don't own anything…yay.
A/N: Thanks to my friend, candy angel, for the idea.
~~Mark's POV~~
I always knew Roger was trouble. Sure, he's a nice guy sometimes, and he's a good musician, but that's about as deep as the good goes. His girlfriend, April, is no better. They go out every night and do God knows what, then come back, get high, and screw. It's not a pretty picture, if you ask me. So here I am, working my ass off as a cashier at the video store across the street from our loft, trying to make a little cash to buy some more film for my video camera. Knowing Roger, though, he'll probably find some way to steal it from me and use it to buy more drugs. Oh, yeah, that's why he's not with me right now. He's 'down the hall and to the left,' where he and his buddies smoke nonstop. I don't even know if he's getting paid in cash or lines this week.
This song will become the anthem of your underground / You're two floors down getting high in the back room.
I have tried to talk to him, but it's obviously not helping. Sometimes I think I'll just leave. That would get rid of the Roger problem quite nicely. So what if I'm his 'best friend.' We both know that's a lie. His best friends are the drugs he worships. I doubt he would even notice if I left. That is until he realized he didn't have any clean clothes or sheets. But I can't leave. I do have hope that someday he might stop this crap and snap out of whatever 'phase,' as my mother calls it, that he is going through.
If I flooded out your house, do you think you'd make it out / Or would you burn up before the water filled your lungs?
In a way, it's my fault, too. I mean, I am supposed to act like his best friend. Would a guy's best friend just sit back and watch him kill himself? Of course not. Friends are supposed to help each other out in times of need. Me, I just sit back and film them getting high. He says that I help out by giving them money and not getting in the way. The truth is, every time I see him doing this to himself I want to cry. It's not me being a wimp, it's me feeling. It takes a lot to make me feel something that big. I'm usually the one who doesn't say anything, no matter how big the situation is. I still don't object when they come home and do what they want. I'm too scared. I argued with Roger once when he was high, and I learned never to do that again. He was just so angry. Angrier than usual. He acted like I wasn't his friend, like I didn't matter. But I'll stand by him, even when he's like that. That's what friendship is. Right?
And at your funeral I will sing the requiem / I'd offer you my hand but it would hurt too much to watch you die.
Sometimes he scares me, but other times he just makes me angry as hell. It's not all about him. He doesn't get that his actions have consequences to other people too. The other night, I was walking alone down a street near Washington Square Park (not the brightest idea I have ever had). A dealer approached me and tried to sell me stuff. Of course, I refused. That's when things got ugly. He kept following me around saying things like 'oh, clean boy's got will power' and teasing me like that. It brought back the memories of my elementary years, when kids would always pick on me. I half wanted to try the drugs to (1) see what Roger liked so much about them and (2) get this guy off my back. I hated Roger for bringing this devil called drugs into my life.
And you can bet when we mourn the death of you that night / That they'll lay me on the dinner table and I will be the pig / With the apple in my mouth, the food that celebrates your end / And at your funeral I will sing the requiem / I'd offer you my hand but it would hurt too much to watch you die
Disclaimer: I am broke and don't own anything…yay.
A/N: Thanks to my friend, candy angel, for the idea.
~~Mark's POV~~
I always knew Roger was trouble. Sure, he's a nice guy sometimes, and he's a good musician, but that's about as deep as the good goes. His girlfriend, April, is no better. They go out every night and do God knows what, then come back, get high, and screw. It's not a pretty picture, if you ask me. So here I am, working my ass off as a cashier at the video store across the street from our loft, trying to make a little cash to buy some more film for my video camera. Knowing Roger, though, he'll probably find some way to steal it from me and use it to buy more drugs. Oh, yeah, that's why he's not with me right now. He's 'down the hall and to the left,' where he and his buddies smoke nonstop. I don't even know if he's getting paid in cash or lines this week.
This song will become the anthem of your underground / You're two floors down getting high in the back room.
I have tried to talk to him, but it's obviously not helping. Sometimes I think I'll just leave. That would get rid of the Roger problem quite nicely. So what if I'm his 'best friend.' We both know that's a lie. His best friends are the drugs he worships. I doubt he would even notice if I left. That is until he realized he didn't have any clean clothes or sheets. But I can't leave. I do have hope that someday he might stop this crap and snap out of whatever 'phase,' as my mother calls it, that he is going through.
If I flooded out your house, do you think you'd make it out / Or would you burn up before the water filled your lungs?
In a way, it's my fault, too. I mean, I am supposed to act like his best friend. Would a guy's best friend just sit back and watch him kill himself? Of course not. Friends are supposed to help each other out in times of need. Me, I just sit back and film them getting high. He says that I help out by giving them money and not getting in the way. The truth is, every time I see him doing this to himself I want to cry. It's not me being a wimp, it's me feeling. It takes a lot to make me feel something that big. I'm usually the one who doesn't say anything, no matter how big the situation is. I still don't object when they come home and do what they want. I'm too scared. I argued with Roger once when he was high, and I learned never to do that again. He was just so angry. Angrier than usual. He acted like I wasn't his friend, like I didn't matter. But I'll stand by him, even when he's like that. That's what friendship is. Right?
And at your funeral I will sing the requiem / I'd offer you my hand but it would hurt too much to watch you die.
Sometimes he scares me, but other times he just makes me angry as hell. It's not all about him. He doesn't get that his actions have consequences to other people too. The other night, I was walking alone down a street near Washington Square Park (not the brightest idea I have ever had). A dealer approached me and tried to sell me stuff. Of course, I refused. That's when things got ugly. He kept following me around saying things like 'oh, clean boy's got will power' and teasing me like that. It brought back the memories of my elementary years, when kids would always pick on me. I half wanted to try the drugs to (1) see what Roger liked so much about them and (2) get this guy off my back. I hated Roger for bringing this devil called drugs into my life.
And you can bet when we mourn the death of you that night / That they'll lay me on the dinner table and I will be the pig / With the apple in my mouth, the food that celebrates your end / And at your funeral I will sing the requiem / I'd offer you my hand but it would hurt too much to watch you die