fight the system =OP3N

[jason levito]

one new truth
one thousand new lies
you're beautiful. you belong to me

His fingers had caught onto the wallpaper and dragged the shit off the wall, watching it peel and scrape off with almost a smirk on his lips. It was like watching someones skin tearing off- wait.. wasn't that sick? It only made his smile widen. Maybe he was crazy, the chances of that weren't slim- but did he really need to be here? The Forbidden Wing- how did they expect that patients would know about that and not want to go into it? Not want to see what makes it so forbidden. He'd been here so many times in the past two years, he came here sometimes just to get the hell away from the people in this place. The fucking crazies. All they wanted was to bitch and moan that they were in a mental institution- at least he could keep his bitching to himself. He kept to himself, he didn't speak unless spoken to, and even then he rarely said a thing. It was curt if he even spoke at all. His ears faintly caught the sound of a footstep and someone sighing, the corners of his lips curved slightly- a grim satisfaction. Pulling at the wall paper listening to it rip and tear off the paint beneath it.

"Look at the red, the red changes in the sky..."

It's funny how subconsciouscly he can not stop the musical and creative overflow in his head. He can not stop writing lyrics, and he can not stop singing old ones underneath his breath. Or maybe he's just moving his lips and the sound of his voice dies before it even rises to reveal it is still there? Music was a big part of him. A big part of what happened, well, what happened would have happened with or without the music being successful. He had always been a bomb just waiting for the moment. The moment was taking too long- so basically this bomb figured out how to set himself off. The warning was the balcony, they all knew he was dead on that pavement. Those goddamn paramedics just couldn't let him go could they? Someone like him shouldn't die the way he should have. Someone like him should not die at his own hand- jumping off a balcony was shameful.. wasn't it? He wanted to die, why did they keep him alive? He jumped. He'd tried so many different ways. Always with a gun too far out of reach.

There was a trail of blood falling onto the wall paper he was picking at and tearing off the wall. There was an open wound on his wrist, from what you ask? When you scratch your skin enough you can pull off some skin, or a lot of skin.. you can create a steady flow of blood if you do it long enough. Chewing, scratching, biting, tearing into his flesh so that that elated and high feeling as the blood leaves your body yet not enough to kill you- you can always do what you want if you want it enough. He could kill himself at any fucking moment- he could to it now. Slam his head into the wall until his skull cracked and he bled out. He could drive a fucking pencil into his jugular, he could take all those pills he'd been tongueing for the past few months- that could kill him quick.

He didn't want to die quickly. He wanted to feel it.

ooc// this is so bad, I apologize I'm kinda rusty- and it's rambling but I mean.. it's something?

[rosette mara everhate]

i cant believe it
ripped his heart out right before his eyes !

Insomnia. Pile on the problems. Black hair shaded the pale features of a petite girl as she slipped out of the room they had shoved her in for the day. She had to be watched you know. But they could never keep track of her. Too quiet. She never spoke more than she had to. Never talked about why she was here. Why? She couldnt remember. And if she knew, would she anyways? Who would want to go over the gorey details of why they were here. Why would she go out of her way to talk about her now dead fiance? The boy that she had murdered in the most gruesome of ways far from her own gentle state of mind? She let her fingers move over every imperfection of the walls of Whispering Willows. She smiled grimly to herself and paused for a split second. There was a small flash of memory. The petite girl slid her foot backwards and retraced her last few steps exactly. She stopped in the middle of the hall, a blank expression on her pale face. Venom green eyes stared off into nothing. She thought she had found something. Something that could help her remember.

But, as per usual, she was wrong. Forbidden to remember.

Rosette's bright green eyes regained their thoughtful look and she began walking again. She had only been here a few days. But everyone already knew who she was. Not for what she had done. Or who she had been at some point, but as the new girl. Just like high school. Just like middle school. Some things just never changed. Even though the years had passed, her accent carefully hidden, she was still noted as the new girl. The outsider. Almost ironic. Funny in a way. Rosette bit back a small smile. But the bitter look still found its way onto her lips. Into her eyes. She seemed to wear it a lot. Rosette just continued to walk. Ignoring the stares as she did so. It was easier to ignore them than to dwell on what they were saying about her. She was used to it. Small memories from High School about the girls who would tease her. High School never ends, does it? Such odd thoughts to be having while walking through an asylum wouldnt you think? Anything goes here though.

She didnt know where she was going. She had just been walking. Rosette was much too new to know any better. She hadnt been paying attention. No one had told her about the forbidden wing. She just knew it as somewhere that most people didnt venture. Slowing her walk as she heard someone speak, Rosette made a strange face. A crack into the facade. She paused out of view and listened quietly. Rosette could smell the blood. Next to the faint smell of dust and decay. She scrunched up her nose and began walking once more. She only stopped to see Jason Levito tearing things off the wall. He looked familiar to her, but anything before being here was a bit blurry. She wouldnt ask any questions about his familiarity to her. She didnt much care right now in all honesty. All she had was a simple statement.

"you're bleeding."

ooc;; its better than mine xD your post was good. trust me.

[jason levito]

Silence was appreciated, silence and the fact that he was alone. He wasn't alone- he could feel it. He could feel eyes on him, not penetrating him, no- but he could feel it. He felt the way the temperature rose a few degrees as the body heat of another person neared him. He was always cold, his hands were always cold, his breath cold, his body was cold to the touch. He was a strange case for the doctors here, first of all it's not often you get a fallen celebrity (or legend as some would hold him) that hates himself so much. His inner turmoil was confusing and complex. He hated himself for breathing- he hated himself because he was alive. He hated himself since he was nine years old- and it never stopped, not for a moment. The smiles were plastered on and never once reached his eyes. The laughter was a shell of pain and hate together. "When I'm warm I'll feel alive again." It was a promise that he'd made a million and five times- when was he warm? When was the last time he felt warm?

The sound of another person breathing caused him to turn his head ever so slightly, icy eyes landing upon the face of another person. His eyes traced to the floor and up to her face again before he turned his head, fingers still limply gripping the wall paper with rose petals seeping through the wound. "Suprise, suprise." He spoke. His voice was sharp and cold, you could even say angry. He didn't care about who this person was, it didn't matter to him at all. No one mattered anymore. He could say was the biggest priority to himself, although that wasn't true. He was the bellow the last thing he gave a flying fuck about. Once again he could swear he heard someone else other than the obvious. He'd been hearing and sensing these other beings and presences long before he came here, the feelings only intensified when he was in this place. He didn't care. He didn't really notice what exactly that may have meant- he was crazy wasn't he? He should live up to that- even if on the outside he didn't.

Looks were definately decieving in his case. He looked like the picture of the American Dream. Successful, gorgeous, talented (in more than just music... if you know what I mean.) and he should and could have been the epitome of perfection in a man. Then again, it was human to have flaws? Though after that jump- was he considered human anymore. He was dead to everyone around him and not around him, the death that had taken place nearly twenty years ago was finally starting to be noticed- yet he was here. And America couldn't stop reading about their newest celebrity to melt down, to give in and to crumble. Even if he had crumbled two years ago... to the public. There was nothing more of Jason Levito- because this man in the breathing corpse that roamed around life now, did not speak to others willingly, did not warm himself, and loathed himself to a point beyond masochism and suicide. "What does it matter to you?" His voice was sharp as he spoke again.