We are Groot.
Morghan Watson Answer:
We are Groot.
Morghan Watson Answer:
"- Max by morghan-watson.tumblr.com (via morghan-watson)
He doesn’t care for much, just his cello and James
and he has high doubts that ever will change
Logically, there was a time when he cared for more
when his brain was able to mold and pour
over work, school, friends
When he could delicately tie together all of the string’s loose ends,
to make their tunes unified.
everything around that boy used to be alive
But that was before,
before he realized that James was the only person who could make him feel this way
before he believed that it was a disease of the mind that made him gay,
before his cello was less hallow than the growing pit inside him
before he began to question the necessity of his own existence.
Long before he wondered if anyone could miss him
There was a time when to him the word “music,” brought entire orchestras to life!
A time when his feet found contentment dancing to the rhythm of the crickets in the night
not the hauting echo of his cello as it runs through the streets in his head
losing itself under burnt out street lights
There was a time when his brain was lined with the words he borrowed from the tips of authors pens
The lining that has since been stripped
by the messy scrawls of his suicide notes that stain his hands with their ink, again, and again, and again
There was a time when his only fear was that after he shut out the lights
he wouldn’t survive the monsters under his bed,
but as he got older he realized the only real monsters were the ones in his head
Now his only fear is that he is falling.
Falling in love with another boy
a boy who is the only thing that keeps him tip toeing on the line between the living and dead
Despite all this, in the morning he scraped up any remnants of his will power
and drags his limp body out from under his thick covers
He fights his way through the mental clutter
and he pulls his clothes on over the heavy cloak of depression he always wears
While leaving his house he often wonders if people would think it was an accident
Took a nasty slip, on a one way trip, down that flight of stairs
He watches the buzzing hallways at school with his soft brown eyes
greatly exaggerated by his oversize glasses
He hides in a sea of wispy brown hair so he isn’t noticed in his classes
He doesn’t want anyone getting too close
The boy people are looking for died long ago
and was buried beneath the bags forming under his eyes
and escaped through the cuts, the ones he tries to hide
red streams that scream help as they pour from his thighs
Today is like every other day, of every other year
that he will spend alone in this corner of the cafeteria watching James
feeling his palms steam, and his pale cheeks scream “I am here,”
He was no longer able to pretend his feelings didn’t exist
he was no longer able to resist
those feelings of warmth when James was near
"He told everyone you are gay" a voice burst in
Sudden emotions flood over him like a wave, as years of well-guarded walls began to cave
The strong architecture of his lies snapping like toothpicks all around him
collapsing into a pile past the point of being saved
as he realized it was his own brother who put his secret on display
"He says he overheard the other evening when you tried to tell your mom
and he told our entire class the other day when you were gone.”
He rises really slowly, lips forming a straight line
and he walks down the hallways; arms pressed tightly at his sides
but behind a calm expression he swallowed tears with his pride
Walking home early, he remembers when he told his mom
He remembers the way he fell before her feet,
that tingling lump like fist in his throat that kept swelling, his whole body was numb
For such an erudite boy, his words were so weak
Yet he had to contort his mouth to wrap around those words
as though his tongue were a serpent
the words, he swore he would never speak
because to him they were like poison
so when he finally spit them out
his voice was so broken
He reaches home. He is glad to be far from school
so far from the place where his gentle words were twisted into a blade
a blade that was brandished and waved
as if his brother were the Lion heart, and his grand crusade
was to tear up the road of security he had so neatly paved
He tries to drown his thoughts with his cellos low lull,
but his mind is buzzing, dizzy, full.
His thoughts are storms of hornets that crack at the insides of his skulls
that sting his face with tears as they swirl and pool
mixed with the thoughts of taunting faces he will have to face at school
CRACK! His hand slips; all tension is released as his bow snaps in two.
He felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. his throat tightened.
His sweaty palms crushing what was left of his bow
All the reasons he had fabricated to hold him back, no longer held any truth
He knew it was time to just let go.
He was just a rotting soul, in the frame of a youth
He knows the quickest way to go:
a tall glass of water, various pills
he chased it down with the few memories of warmth his body still knows
memories strong enough to match the burn that kills
memories of James, and the sound of his cello
he left no regrets, only final scribbling on a note
that ensures everyone who ever knew him would know:
He didn’t care for much, just his cello and James"
and now that is all, that is all that remains.
For the anon who requested it, here is me singing (a part of) “The Big Parade” by the Lumineers
My cover of “I’d Rather be with you” by Joshua Radin.