| Sic Enemy - Show me what you wanna be I can handle anything Even if I can't handle you Readily - Either way it better be Don't you fuckin' pity me Get up, get off... What the hell am I sayin'? I don't know about malevolent Sure as hell decadent I want somebody to step up, step off Walls! Let me fall! FUCK YOU ALL! Get a grip; don't let me slip 'til I drop the ball Justin walked up onto the stage with his large, gorilla-like hands shaking. Shaking with fear. Anger. A deep hatred. He hated all the people that bothered to go to his sucky shows with a Goddamn passion. He hated his job. Hated the fans. Hated the fact that everyone liked to suck his physical and emotional energy right the Hell out of him. But he was also afraid of stopping his job. Hate was a feeling. Feelings prove you're still alive, right? And not just another zombie walking the Earth, praying for something like Armageddon to happen. But then again, he prayed that something like that would happen. Sort of. He didn't really have a Religion, it was just a thought that was constantly on his mind. It basically invaded his mind, just like it was doing now, as he sang his verse to 'It's Gunna Be Me' while bouncing on that stupid blue ball, in the rain. Suddenly, the ball bound forward in mid-bounce, his leg having hit it, and he fell flat on his back. He just lay there for a moment, looking up into the sky. It was a dark blackish-blue. Dark. As dark as his mood. As dark as the thoughts that traveled through his mind everyday about death. A few stars managed to twinkle through the thick clouds, and they were a bright white. Bright. As bright as he used to think of his life, before he realized what a pain in the ass it was. The stars were very pale, too. He looked at his arm, then down at his chest. His many, many, although unseen, scars told the tale of his dark nights. The nights he couldn't stand the fact that he was even breathing, much less singing and dancing. He used to love this. He used to love hearing girls scream his name. He used to love seeing the rest of the guys so happy. Sometimes, if you catch him alone in his bunk, you'll see him crying, wondering what had happened to him. The old him, the one that loved to use his cream-like voice to sing ballads, the one that used to love to play basketball with Chris. He was angry with himself, sometimes, for not being able to swallow his pride and play basketball like they used to. He always had to be separated from the other four, though. He was too good for them. I - I want it all! Fuck this shit, I'm sick of it You're goin' down, This is a war! "I'm going back to the hotel," Justin spoke, his anger seemed to have died down some. JC nodded slightly, crossing his legs and hovering over his notebook, writing, as they all sat in the dressing room to catch their breath. The others didn't really seem to care, which made Justin's anger flare up. No one ever gave a damn about him, or his life, or what he did, where he went! No one! I'm fucking sick of this! Who the fuck am I to criticize your twisted state of mind? You're leavin' me suspect - I'm leavin' you grotesque Feels like a burn from which you never learn Cause and effect, you jealous ass Press your face against the glass - SUFFER! "You know what?" Justin's voice spat, filled with outrage as his fists clenched and shook. His teeth grit when he didn't get a Goddamn response from anyone. "Fuck you, fuck EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!" He got up and knocked his chair, hard, with his hand, and knocked it over. He stomped out of the room with tears in his eyes, although he didn't understand why they were threatening to spill. There were a lot of things he didn't understand, though. He didn't understand why he'd been destined to this endless torture. He didn't understand why no one gave two shits about him. He didn't understand why he was still breathing. I - I want it all! Fuck this shit, I'm sick of it You're goin' down, this is a war! He popped the cap off the bottle using his perfect, straight teeth, then chugged a few gulps down, no really caring what liquor it was that they had in the hotel. He just really needed to drink. To get his mind off his crazy life. His crazy thoughts. Justin'd bought a 6 pack of the stuff. Tasted like...lemonade? He looked at the shiny glass bottle to see what it was, but he caught glimpse of something on the bottle. It was his own reflection. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Wrong. The reflection's eyes became red. As red as blood. As red as the devil's eyes, and it scared the fucking shit out of him. He screamed at the top of his lungs, and tossed the bottle against the wall. After a moment of calming himself down, he picked up the next bottle. But, again, the same thing happened, only horns seemed to pop out of his curly mane. He dropped the bottle, allowing it to spill all over the nicely cleaned carpet, and darted into the dark bathroom. Justin breathed in heavily, trying to calm himself down. You'll be okay, Timberlake, he thought to himself. "You're not going crazy, you're not going crazy." He flipped the light on and rinsed his tear stained face off. The water seemed freezing against his warm skin. It felt good. Suddenly he got the feeling you get when you know someone's watching you from behind. He turned around, and there was an angel. Hanging by a Neuse. With its eyes torn out so far they hung by the top of its robe. And a substance dripped from their empty eye sockets that seemed to penetrate right through the floor with a sizzling sound. Across the shower, written in blood, read the words, 'Kill yourself, you mother fucker!' His eyes widened with terror and he let out a blood-curdling scream, as he grabbed the razor off the shelf, knocking the angel's body slightly. Justin's hand snapped back as if the angel had bitten him. Holy fuck, he'd completely lost his mind! I've just begun It's about that time Gotta get mine He began to do just as the wall said. He started dragging the razor blade up his arm, to his elbow, but then thought better about using the razor. A knife would do the job quicker; it'd end his insanity faster. He dropped the razor and ran out into the small kitchen like area, and grabbed the butcher's knife out of its holder. YOU CAN'T KILL ME CUZ I'M ALREADY DEEP INSIDE YOU SIC |