╳ ＩＴ＇Ｓ Ａ ＢＥＡＵＴＩＦＵＬ ＤＡＹ

#;; a time before ( ᵖᵃˢᵗ )#;; charaisms

You told me to count sheep

I close my eyes and I count the 𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 left on my 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 Broken bottles of gin

I haven’t slept well a night since then And you want me to count sheep.

The only thing worse than the 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 of being stabbed is it 𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 my clothes

#;; live a little #snowdin trio

Chara fidgeted, picking at loose strands of his sweater again; was that becoming another habit of his when he was nervous? He already had too many.

" Well... dying was almost as if I could see everything and nothing? I don't know how to explain it, but... it gave me perspective, I guess, if I wanted to explain it simply. Allowed me to understand that what I did was childish and wrong, made me want to be a better person... and I guess I just... got one last chance, if that makes sense? I'm really not sure how it works, myself, but... I'm glad that I get another chance. "

Chara decided he'd stop while he was ahead, not wanting to reveal too much unless he wanted to run the risk of revealing way too much. And he... really didn't even want to get into the feeling of emptiness, total and complete emptiness that terrified him when he died. Maybe that was his reason for wanting to be better, for wanting to turn his life around; it was a terrifying feeling now that he thought about it.

" O-oh. Well, now that you brought it up, I'm a little worried, too... I hope they're okay. "

Much to his own surprise, he genuinely meant it when he said it. He didn't want to think about anyone else dying, especially since it was his fault - his universe or not, it wouldn't stop him from feeling responsible.

" Wait- a talking flower? "

oh shit, my 100th post

#[ im sorry #i just had to #the next post will be a serious one #and a roleplay one #i just had to claim it before i posted the response lmaoo ]#;; out of chocolate

I’ll paint a 𝓹𝓻𝒆𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝒆 This 𝑘𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢 as my paintbrush And your 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 as my paint

Are you ready now?

———— && all of your 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈

cannot convince me there is a s h r e d of

beauty left in that vile, ᴘᴜᴛʀɪᴅ wreckage

that you presume to call a 𝐻 𝐸 𝒜 𝑅 𝒯

Even 𝐻 𝐸 𝐿 𝐿 would s p i t me back out…

A knife is solid and true Guns jam, they’re loud, unreliable Give me a 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 any day.

I’m breaking b r e a k i n g b r e a k i n g

ripping at the seams s h a t t e r i n g a p a r t twisting my once pleasant dreams…

You were never a poem You were ˢᶤˡᵉᶰᵗ ᶰᶤᵍʰᵗˢ after slamming doors and choked back 𝕤𝕠𝕓𝕤.

Shouted curses and Half hearted apologies that smelled like booze ᵃᶰᵈ ¹² ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᵗᵒᵒ ˡᵃᵗᵉ

You were never a poem. You were just another promise вяσкεи

#;; sweet muse

I’ll call out in the night for my mother But she isn’t coming back for me Cause she’s ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ

I used to live in the DARKNESS dress in ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ… act so ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ but NOW I see that C O L O R S are everything got kaleidoscopes in my hairdo got back the stars in my eyes, too yeah, now I see the 𝑀𝒜𝒢𝐼𝒞 inside of me