...
Some Rolling Stones bandslash I have worked on in the past few weeks.
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow
It was rather… weird.
The table, bare with a cold surface. These walls, shutting him in, cornering his vulnerability. The silence was thick, heavily weighing him down. It sagged with questions, all too obvious answers. The truth was so hurtful.
Mick sat at the table, his blue eyes vacantly staring. A fork was loosely clutched in his lanky fingers rolling food around on his plate. Normally, Mick would be devouring it by the mouthfuls, but today, it was a rather strange day. He didn’t feel like eating, his stomach too rejecting of food.
A heavy sigh escaped the confines of his cupid lips. Swallowed up in the nothingness of this bitter atmosphere. The white, hot, yet viscous lights were gazing. Invisible eyes watching. The lights knew, the clock knew, everything. The upbeat quality had shied away from his demeanor. A self loathing feeling was replacing it, eating his core.
Don' you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the queen of heats is always your best bet
“Here’s to you, Brian,” he raised his glass, “poor old ******** Brian.” He gazed at the polished liquid in his glass.
Only a few months had passed, yet, it seemed just fresh. He left the world, enveloped in a watery casket. Mick felt like a doll, his seems threatening to burst. Anguish had been lathering his spine. Dry salty tracks had leaked down his face and dried in cracked paths. It pooled underneath his eyes with mascara. His own bandits mask.
“I hope you went out smiling.” Mick downed the alcohol; the warm, but emotionless liquid sliding down his dry, parched throat.
He felt so utterly useless. What could he do? Nothing. Nothing in the world could bring him back. No matter how much he cried, how many tantrums he threw, or whatever, it didn’t make a difference. He was forever gone.
Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get
Mick wished he could do something. To at least have done something. But always in the back of Mick’s mind, a prodding tone told him he couldn’t. A feeling of absolute helplessness and shame burned into his frame, both a lovely and degenerate feeling coursing. It burned him down like a struggling, burned candle wick. This feeling is all too calm as it wraps it’s penetrating cool fingers around his exposed throat and grinds out any sympathy from the abused verifier. Anxiety stilled into him.
His mind was crumbling from this emotional strain, weathering his sand built walls. Mick stills movements of his fork, the silenced sound of scraping metal and glass.
It was too late now. Mick could never tell Brian anything now, and it would forever burn in his chest. Those long, lovely nights would now mold into nothing but lonely, empty hours hat would pass ever soon. He was constantly reminded of those times with Brian. Those clumsy encounters, the spontaneous situations of manifested feelings of desire and frustration, that filthy den called Edith Grove was filled with the desire of dreams and the ever so present filth and dirt.
Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone
Everything was coming down easily. Until one day, Brian found the universe. Those drugs were soon a part of Brian’s past time. It was like the world was morphed into a gate. All crafted into a small little pill. That deceiving maiden that cast spells upon the ears and hearts of men with her false cry. How That golden brown demon, greedy in devouring the eye of the beholders with it’s poisonous grip of silk and saddened blanket of parasites.
A girl came in. The sin incarnate girl named Anita. Then, everything just effortlessly fell apart. Her grip on Brian was there, golden reigns of destruction and chaos. Like Eris herself. She relented and took up another person in the form of Keith, leaving Brian cracked and in a pile of his own self pity. She had encouraged Brian into a downward spiral of self destruction and degenerated state of an unreachable oblivion.
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time from the day
You're loosin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?
Mick wished he could tell Brian everything. How much he loved him. How he wished to reach out and stroke that golden haystack of blond hair. To whisper sweet nothingness and to look into those eyes with happiness, and not see the pitiful, self hating boy Brian had become. How he admired Brian and his talent for being so skillful that even playing with Mick’s body came like second nature. Controlling him like a marionette doll.
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
Mick hunched over the table, nimble fingers shaking with poor uninhibited tremors that ruffled his ever so fragile state. Hair fell over dull, anguished eyes. A curtain to close out the frightening vulnerability that threatened to shatter his core, that it threatened to eat out his very soul.
Dark eye pencil smeared down his face in the form of wetness that steadily drained from eyes, smudging on his cheeks to splatter on the empty, cold surface.
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late
“Just to poor old ******** Brian,” his cracked voice quivered out into the stale, hot air, only to be tempted by his own fear.
Oh, that is nice.
Current music is "Desperado" by The Eagles.
