I remember driving in the car a lot with my old best friend and he would sing these lines to me.
Teenage demon baby, I’m in love with you
There’s no where in this world I’d rather be
Then right here next to you
We were up ’til dawn, I couldn’t stop yawning
I’ll never get that feeling again
It’s funny how this old dead piece of land
Makes us feel so alive
Teenage Demon Baby shortly became my nickname. I was the walking dead. I was up all night if I’m honest, abusing my body with various substances that shouldn’t be consumed by any young female, especially not sat there with their partner who’d got the mirror out for the occasion. The novelty wore off quite quickly. We’d wake up late afternoon after being sat up all night drawing cartoons of one another or animals or just writing each others names on sheets of paper and sticking them to the walls. We’d start all over again.
“Morning”
“Morning”
“Would you like some?”
It never changed. However much I wanted things to change. You were a hostage because your partner was also a hostage within their own life. Neither of you could get out of the situation and one wasn’t leaving alive. You persuade yourself it’s fun and this person only wants the best for you and they’re your best friend. But they’re not. You partner, becomes your friend, becomes your enemy, watches you cry and lose the will to live and almost some nights die from frantic panic of the abuse they’re doing. You’re mentally abused. Physically, drained, mentally, gone.
You leave.
They try to escape the planet and you lose all faith because some how that’s your fault and you’ve caused that but it’s out of your control. You can’t control someone else once you’ve let them go.
Teenage demon, baby I’m in LOVE with you.
We were in nothing more than in the pub, bed, shower or purgatory.