Chapter Text
niko ikki pov
Why couldn’t he write anything? He was an writer he wasn’t supposed to bleed blood he had to bleed words he had to what is he without writings?
Just a student with a empty notebook
Yeah that was he nothing more nothing less
No matter how much he bled how many times he cried how many times he suffered it is all meaningless if he couldn’t write
He wouldn’t have a future he wouldn’t win he wouldn’t show them all
The yellow pages would stay empty
All he would be was trash who didn’t know when a hobby should stay hobby to the point that his grades where failing even though he was „gifted“
Gifted my ass all he was was a useless kid he couldn’t do anything the moment he stepped into middle school now he was just like the others
The other useless people who had no ounce of creativity
He hated them always calling his writings unnecessary and childish that he should grow up before he lands on the streets because he couldn’t make it as an author
And now its starting to look like they are right he couldn’t write he couldn’t put his pain into words and now he just bled
A thought came to him he never thought he would ever have
He should quit
He is tired, his hands hurts and he is hungry he should quit
For tonight