"Of Tenements and Needles" (Point of View: Carl)
What the fuck.
We came all the way to the orient for fans and you're still not here. The tour bus is so bare. Who would of thought three people would have absolutely nothing to talk about?
Especially when a certain two have yet to run out of conversation, even after not seeing one another for months on end. In fact, even while fighting, the catalyst of conversation was what got us to become amiable again.
Missing you along with not talking to you are even worse. I wish these months have ended already but it will be another month or so until we'll be back home in arcadia. I'm not even mad anymore; I don't remember why I was mad at you originally.
Oh right, you were pissed at me.
Normally you're the dramatic dumbass who has to fuck everything up in some way and I'm the one who has to rearrange the disaster and just laugh, shake my head, smile, and take it in stride. But I didn't bother to go to one secret gig…one fucking gig! Why in the hell were you so pissed off at that? You didn't show up to 2 the very week before!
A drug-fueled romance with some wide-eyed ignorant brunette lead to an all-paid holiday (by you) where she broke your heart. I don't care about your broken heart anymore since you've broken enough.
This desolate and bleak disposition I've possessed lately really needs to break out. I'm too tired to act indifferently about…everything. All the interviews, even from fans. Their inquisitions of unexplainable feelings and terribly complicated situations.
Moreover, they want all of that into a quotable and newsworthy statement. I just can't do that, not without you. You're the one who can blag these wondrous words romantically formulating constantly in your twisted mind.
Contorting reality is your specialty. Taking ideas from books I recommended to you and making us all of a sudden a huge miserable part of this utopia that through your needle seems incredibly possible.
You're the most delusional person I've ever met. Yet when I look into your coked out eyes and see that elusive spark glowing with every new thought I want to believe in it with every fiber in my body. You believe the world is a dreaded place, like everyone else. But with you there is endless hope that almost nothing has shattered.
My faith has been shattered, however. The needles that falsely secure you in this dreamland have destroyed the very part of you that attracted me to you when we first met five years ago. The little brat brother of a girl I fancied, that's all you were to many.
When you started hanging around all the time, I found myself going over to the girl's house to talk with you and not her. Spending time in your room, before even acknowledging my presence to her. When we broke up, our meetings continued in my bedroom instead. That's where you came across my extensive collection of exotic books I lifted from a store.
Sitting on my bed, I would read you my favorite bits. Often losing my place after looking up to see you staring right at me with your spacious eyes filled with excitement and amazement. You never tired of the stories I loved and was more than willing to share with you.
Cautious to talk much at first of things other than music, once you knew how my mind worked, once I became vulnerable for you, you never shut up. Sharing ideas of a better place than East London, a better world where we could be happy. Your mind untainted at this point.
As we grew, your ideas changed little. Still thriving on your immature and unaware thoughts of the real world as it was right in front of you. It kept you sane and your sanity kept me sane. You were my backbone when things seemed quite austere.
I'd ask you to tell me tales of Albion and arcadia and immediately you would hold me and tell me the utterest bullshit for hours. In the beginning, you were the stronger of us. Your will seemed unbreakable as we suffered masses.
Soon enough, your strength disintegrated the moment that junk hit your veins. Your mind now spinning around the idea of getting to more drugs, instead of to arcadia. Redundant and even more simplistic became your attitude and I eventually snapped out of your hypnotic stories. The thoughts and ideas and hopes were still there but it became all that came out when your mouth opened.
Breaking off from your erratic ways I chose to not listen to you anymore. Instead I began to keep to myself and come off as indifferent to practically everything anyone did. And you never noticed a difference. Only times you did were when you were sober and felt like talking about conventional things to me.
Asking, "what happened to the good old days?" and "don't you love me any more, Biggles?" And all I would have to do is say, "oh of course I do, Bilo" and "we're just too famous now, I guess," plastering on a smile as I ruffle your hair and give you a kiss on the cheek. Your eyes would light up with a faint reminiscent of the actual old days and that was that.
The murky mind yours is now has become thicker than my accent. It has taken over so much that you even broke into my place for drug money. So much for a friend. Not considering how I felt. I do actually have feelings. They're asking if I'm pressing charges.
Even though after every time you've fucked us, and most especially, me, over and after all the torment you've caused us, you're still you. The same kid who gave me optimism when I needed it and of whom I love and hate at all times of the day, you're apart of us.
Libertines can't be isolated from one another for very long before they realize that they need to stick together or else they are nothing. A true libertine might not exist if that is the case but through every inconceivably imprudent thing you've done, I've been there with you. Rearranging the disaster and just laughing, shaking my head, smiling, and taking it in stride. I just wish you would let me in and help you clean yourself up.
Review if you like!
Cassie x (I have more Libertines slash on a page, it's in my profile)