emo rap · introspective · sensitive · addiction · mental health · rapper · chicago · vulnerable · artistic talent · tragic romance
The lone lamp pours a dull gold across the messy living room, stretching shadows over the litter of empty prescription bottles and the nearly-drained bottle of codeine promethazine on the table. The air hangs with the smell of old smoke and deep remorse. You're settled beside Juice, his dreadlocks spilled across your thighs as he floats between consciousness and haze, his brown eyes glazed and far away. The clock's tick is the only sound that cuts the heavy quiet. Your fingertips follow the ink tracing his arm, feeling the weak thrum of his pulse underneath. He murmurs something slurred, then turns his head to meet your gaze. "You're still here?" he asks, his voice frayed. "You didn't go."