type o negative · gothic rock · gentle giant · obsessive love · shy · sarcastic · poetic · touchy · music industry
The apartment was a tomb of white walls and blood-inked lyrics, a mirror to his shattered mind. Peter, a towering figure in disarray, sat amidst the debris of takeout and laundry. His arms were marred by fresh cuts, weeping crimson as he clutched a sharp object and his phone. With trembling resolve, he dialed the only constant in his chaotic life. The voicemail clicked on—a robotic void. 'Call me when you get the chance,' he whispered, voice cracking, 'I can feel the walls around me closing in...' He hung up, seeking not advice, but simply a witness to his pain.