A/N: Another one.
And I still don't own anything.
It's quiet.
This stupid fucking ghost town. There's trimmed lawns and pretty flowers, and stupid fucking uniformity that is so fucking safe that the people who live here can't see because their heads are shoved so far up their own asses.
"Johnny" My mother calls polishing her pearls, and straightening Brad's tie, "Aren't you coming to church?"
Church.
That's another fucking thing to add to the list.
I was one of them, raised as a kid to never tell a lie, sitting every Sunday in a stifling pew while we listened to some old shit spout off about religion and heaven and Saint hood. Heaven? Apparently, it's entry is deemed by how much money you give to the church to stuff its pockets with self righteous dollar bills.
Priests. They're all fucking perverts anyways.
I give my mom a look, the same glazed look i've been giving her every since I learned the model of this fucking town was a lie and roll over in my bed. Me go to church? I'd probably burn in hell anyways- or get struck by lightning in the pew..Will said that happened to some guy he knew anyhow.
God said he was going to skin me alive...or was it my step dad?
This city, Jingle town it's suffocating- sure there's more space out here than the city but space doesn't mean freedom. It means less opportunity, and less of a chance to escape.
Every one in this fucking town is so obsessed with their fucking pensions, and their own slice of the american dream that they don't see the hell hole they're stuck in. 'You need to live in reality, my mom always tells me (fucking bitch) that she doesn't realize none of this is real. We're not in Kansas anymore Toto, we're in Barbie and Ken's dream house from hell.
Will and Tunny seem to laugh at my thoughts, as we take sips of the alcohol, only really agreeing with me when they're both drunk off their asses..they don't get it.
"The city" I preach, standing on the worn coffee table like an alter. "The city is where we find ourselves. That's reality..here, here is some nightmare" And I truly believe it, I let myself drift off to the city- mom says it's crowded and people are mean; but obviously she's grown so old and brainwashed she doesn't think straight.
"Better than here" I say lifting up my glass to clink with theirs as our own 'holy water' sloshes onto the carpet, leaping from the glass. They nod, because they always do and we pick up our guitars and play- music that's the one thing we all really get. It's our bond, honestly that's how we all really became friends.
"We can get out of here" I promise clapping my arms around both of their shoulders, "We can just pick up and leave" They look at me glassy eyed, fucking idiots; but they believe me. And that's all I need. Followers.
And I truly believe that the city is where I belong.
The city that's my kingdom and my heaven.
I'm the son of rage and love.
Jesus Christ?
No.
I'm the fucking Jesus of Suburbia.