Post by Tommy Kelly on Aug 17, 2021 20:03:42 GMT -5
“So… you from around this neighborhood?”
This fucking hairpiece has been looking at me since I walked into the shop, now he’s grilling me about me roots?
“Uh, no. I mean, yeah. I mean…”
Just let me buy my bottle of booze and get the fuck out. Why is it everytime I go anywhere I suddenly have fans, but when I need the people around me nobody is there for me.
“You look familiar, have you been in before?”
“No man, first time - look, how much do I owe you?”
That shut him up, finally. He points at the machine but I’ve already tossed him a fifty, enough for my booze and my fags. The walk here sobered me up, last thing I want is a night under the stars with a clear fuckin’ head.
Here I am, Tommy Kelly - back on the fuckin streets. Not like I’m short of money or don’t have a place to go to. I got all those safety nets I could ask for, but where's the excitement in that.
I was raised hungry and cold, a fighter. From the wars to the streets, I earned my place in this world, I earned my luxuries.
And now, losing it all, losing my entire world in one fuckin’ weekend… I need that grit. That hunger.
That do-or-die.
“Hey buddy, you alright?”
“...fuck off.”
Can’t even sit on a park bench without hassle nowadays.
Friendly folk passing by, they’ll stop to check on you if you got nice clothes and a head of brushed hair. Before, when it was me in rags, they wouldn’t even make eye contact.
Fucking runts, to hell with them. I lost track of myself with that life, with that cushion. I thought it was for me, clean home and roof over my head, fancy steak and salmon dinners whenever I wanted. Shit, I even kicked the bottle at the behest of my friends.
“Aon FOCal, da FOCal, tu FOCal eile, And I not know no FUCKal at all!”
I mean it. What did it bring me, all that money and fame, the popularity that came from a push in a growing company? Did I get more friends? Did I get more love and support?
“Fat fuckin’ chance of that.”
Muttering to myself on this damn park bench, it’s clear - I’m the only friend I ever need. Bodhi’s got her world going on, cutting a slice of profit off every match I win. Hype’s on the lamb doing fuck knows what, and my brother Synn is probably dust and maggots by now.
“Only person that Tommy Kelly needs to care about… is Tommy Kelly.”
I don’t need belts. I don’t need awards and prizes. Ain’t no other man or woman in this fuckin’ place as hungry as me, or can throw down like I do. I’ve got decades on these kids and I’m still whipping their asses.
“Just me, and always me. This drink is for Tommy…”, that first mouthful of vodka is always the harshest, “...and this next one of for you, Dunne.”
Wellington. What a bollocks of a name. And even worse of a person. A failed attempt at a wrestler now trying to achieve something, stepping on the heels of others.
I won’t lie, you helped me out Wellie. Losing to Whelan was nothing, that kid fought well and proved to be a good fight. Losing to a better man, no bother to me.
But you, snakin’ into the match and interrupting my flow, even though I had that lad done and dusted…
“Dunne and dusted… gotta remember that one Tommy.”
We never clashed, we never crossed paths, you never entered my mind… and now it’s all I can do but think about maiming you… I’ve shed my skin for you Wellie. My posh life was making me weak, you might have helped me to realize that.
“I got soft Dunne boy, I got old...”, *swigs the vodka bottle*, “...but I’m not done yet. Can’t kill what’s Deathless.”
I lived in the company of rats for tears. The cold pavement was my home, the little victories I got were invisible to the working class. I knew the value of a pound, a smile, a warm glance in my direction.. And then I turned into a prick about it.
Dunne, you brought me to my senses.
“Fuck the establishment… fuck the system… fuck this world.”
This world is broken… and soon, you’ll break too.
Tommy Kelly - A Broken Man, once more.
This fucking hairpiece has been looking at me since I walked into the shop, now he’s grilling me about me roots?
“Uh, no. I mean, yeah. I mean…”
Just let me buy my bottle of booze and get the fuck out. Why is it everytime I go anywhere I suddenly have fans, but when I need the people around me nobody is there for me.
“You look familiar, have you been in before?”
“No man, first time - look, how much do I owe you?”
That shut him up, finally. He points at the machine but I’ve already tossed him a fifty, enough for my booze and my fags. The walk here sobered me up, last thing I want is a night under the stars with a clear fuckin’ head.
Here I am, Tommy Kelly - back on the fuckin streets. Not like I’m short of money or don’t have a place to go to. I got all those safety nets I could ask for, but where's the excitement in that.
I was raised hungry and cold, a fighter. From the wars to the streets, I earned my place in this world, I earned my luxuries.
And now, losing it all, losing my entire world in one fuckin’ weekend… I need that grit. That hunger.
That do-or-die.
“Hey buddy, you alright?”
“...fuck off.”
Can’t even sit on a park bench without hassle nowadays.
Friendly folk passing by, they’ll stop to check on you if you got nice clothes and a head of brushed hair. Before, when it was me in rags, they wouldn’t even make eye contact.
Fucking runts, to hell with them. I lost track of myself with that life, with that cushion. I thought it was for me, clean home and roof over my head, fancy steak and salmon dinners whenever I wanted. Shit, I even kicked the bottle at the behest of my friends.
“Aon FOCal, da FOCal, tu FOCal eile, And I not know no FUCKal at all!”
I mean it. What did it bring me, all that money and fame, the popularity that came from a push in a growing company? Did I get more friends? Did I get more love and support?
“Fat fuckin’ chance of that.”
Muttering to myself on this damn park bench, it’s clear - I’m the only friend I ever need. Bodhi’s got her world going on, cutting a slice of profit off every match I win. Hype’s on the lamb doing fuck knows what, and my brother Synn is probably dust and maggots by now.
“Only person that Tommy Kelly needs to care about… is Tommy Kelly.”
I don’t need belts. I don’t need awards and prizes. Ain’t no other man or woman in this fuckin’ place as hungry as me, or can throw down like I do. I’ve got decades on these kids and I’m still whipping their asses.
“Just me, and always me. This drink is for Tommy…”, that first mouthful of vodka is always the harshest, “...and this next one of for you, Dunne.”
Wellington. What a bollocks of a name. And even worse of a person. A failed attempt at a wrestler now trying to achieve something, stepping on the heels of others.
I won’t lie, you helped me out Wellie. Losing to Whelan was nothing, that kid fought well and proved to be a good fight. Losing to a better man, no bother to me.
But you, snakin’ into the match and interrupting my flow, even though I had that lad done and dusted…
“Dunne and dusted… gotta remember that one Tommy.”
We never clashed, we never crossed paths, you never entered my mind… and now it’s all I can do but think about maiming you… I’ve shed my skin for you Wellie. My posh life was making me weak, you might have helped me to realize that.
“I got soft Dunne boy, I got old...”, *swigs the vodka bottle*, “...but I’m not done yet. Can’t kill what’s Deathless.”
I lived in the company of rats for tears. The cold pavement was my home, the little victories I got were invisible to the working class. I knew the value of a pound, a smile, a warm glance in my direction.. And then I turned into a prick about it.
Dunne, you brought me to my senses.
“Fuck the establishment… fuck the system… fuck this world.”
This world is broken… and soon, you’ll break too.
Tommy Kelly - A Broken Man, once more.
