Chapter Text
The pen scribbled furiously across the lined paper. It smudged onto his calloused skin as he wrote words and immediately crossed them out. Nothing felt right, nothing felt even passable- it was all garbage.
He crumpled the paper and tossed it into to bin on top of the other miscellaneous garbage. He tossed the pen onto the desk and leaned back into his old chair, which creaked loudly under his weight. He sighed at this. He stared at the pin board on the wall in front of him. A few sticky notes were on it, but mostly small doodles that were hung up by thumb tacks. His scorn didn’t cease as he stared at every minuscule and flawed detail of his work. He couldn’t make out the words well, eyes withered from age. He squinted at it but it stayed blurry. He stood and grabbed the pen off his desk, before capping it and placing it in the mug on his desk. The mug was blank white. He slowly moved to his bed, collapsing in it before staring at the blank white ceiling. The harsh white lights from above were no help for his eyes, but he somehow didnt mind; he was far too lost in the blankness of his walls and the fullness of his mind to care.
He let his mind wander like this far too often, and it usually led to him spiraling in his memories and horrendous actions. His hands reached up to rub his eyes as he yawned, baring sharp teeth to the world. He despised the wrinkles he felt under his hands.
He stood again and walked to the light switch, mindlessly flipping in off and returning to bed. He removed his shirt and curled himself under the stained blanket he kept on his bed. The comforting weight of the blanket pressed snugly into the nooks and crevasses of his body. He breathed heavily, lungs wheezy and weak for no apparent reason. The days grew longer being here, and the nights were even worse. The room was covered in think black ink that poured down the walls and coated everything in sight. He shut his eyes gently, face still tense but loosening as he began to lose touch with whatever he was angry about. The air was cold and dry, leaving his lips crackled and chapped. The poked his tongue out and wedged it in one of the thicker lines that adorned his thin bottom lip, and began to play with it. He could faintly taste blood as he did it but paid it no mind. His body loosened as he began to slow the few actions he was still doing, namely breathing and kicking his legs nervously- it never seemed to stop bouncing when he was awake.
His thin hair laid a curtain in front of his wrinkled eyes. His chest curved into itself, body heating slowly under the covers. He never liked to be too warm while slept (or did anything for that matter), it’s why he spent most days in boxers. They trailed halfway down his thigh, scrunching the small hairs beneath it but allowing certain ones to poke out of the top and lead a thin black trail up his stomach. It spread out on his chest like a firework, starting thick and becoming sparse as it moved out onto his pecs, only to begin again under his arms.
He dozed off, loud snores echoing through the bland, undecorated room. Everything from the walls to the floors was unstained and it didn’t reek of cigarettes like his old room. The carpet was still soft, and not matted from large feet treading on it while pacing in a frenzy. His soft breaths grew louder as the night went on. His head swirled and spun pictures of things in his dreams, namely his singer. His mind wandered over his body, fully clothed and still somehow appetizing. His slender legs poked out from his jeans before trailing into white buckled shoes. His lean stomach sprouted upwards above his long legs. His ribs prodded at the pale, unmarked skin of his torso, so skinny that it was visible from under his shirt. His hair laid atop his head, blue sprouting from the roots like a never ending ball of yarn that was forever being pulled at. His eyes emitted a glow, subtle, but there. His teeth were crooked and many were no longer in his mouth. He wondered where they were now, and how his tongue would feel in the holes where they used to be.