He promised himself he wouldn't look back.

He promised himself he won't mourn.

But he looked back.

And a spear of sorrow and pain stabbed right through his chest.

Those nights, he'd cry himself to sleep, gripping the bedsheets so hard, they'd rip.

And those nights, he won't stop looking back at the memories of him and Addiction.

At those nights, he hoped he can sleep the hunger away, sleep the thirst away.

He could take his daemonium form.

But he could not, should not, would not.

He has to do this. He cannot give up.

And those nights, he will cry until the sun rises again and he has to put on the mask of cheerfulness and competence.

-

bleh. i was gonna rant then i was like, hey why not write instead? so yeet. have this lol