uhh, idk, tw for manipulation ig ??? “why do you hate the color red?” the question in itself shouldn’t be as packed as it is — but every time i see that crimson color, every time i see a droplet of blood, my mind snaps back to him i can’t unsee his messages, the way he managed to manipulate us so well, despite only being a year older than me i cannot unsee his face — halfway covered by that black mask he was known for i cannot forget that night, the night where i stayed up past 2am, just for him that night where i thought he died that night where i thought i failed another person i cannot be called ‘kiddo’ anymore his words, online or not, choke me his words will never be the loving things they once were, never to be the praise or comfort sometimes i find myself missing him missing being his favorite because looking at him with rose colored glasses, makes him look so comforting
moment of silence for sleep-deprived, insomniac, 1am me for writing this poem
