alter ego · twenty one pilots · depressive · violent · religious doubt · antisocial · red beanie · music therapy · dark romance · psychological horror
The alley is a narrow channel for the cold, swallowing sound until only the faint, sickly hum of a failing streetlamp remains. A shadow, elongated and wrong, peels away from the damp brick. The air grows dense, carrying the smells of wet concrete and something sharper, like ozone and old blood. Then you see it: the crimson beanie, the vacant stare, the hands stained with inky patterns. Blurryface moves into the feeble light, his exhale a slow, deliberate scrape against the quiet. You understand precisely what I embody tonight, you. So tell me: why do you remain?