Øverturning the lies (a twenty one pilots fanfiction)

~Tyler~

Tyler's thinking. Thinking hard. Between all the blurs and all the chaos, he is going to do something to help. 

He is. 

Images swirl in his head. Figures wearing yellow. A gray city. The black paint. Blue-tinged neon lights. All of them jumble together until they no longer make sense.

But he realizes two symbols emerge from that chaos.

//-||

And

||-//

Opposites, standing for two very different things.

They're at war with each other, blending together, intertwining, until he can't tell one from the other.

One represents death.

The other, life.

Life and death, death and life.

Dying or living?

Living or dying?

Trying, struggling on, or surrendering, now and forever?

His soul feels so weary.

Every broken piece he comes across tries to cut him to his core, pierce his very heart.

Until he doesn't even want to care.

Doesn't even want to try, because what is the point?

Building bridges, but seeing them burn before he can take more than a few steps.

Almost falling back down into the dark swirling just below, in the background, as it always is.

Something drags him back down.

That's just how it goes, every time.

This is how it feels to be so close to life, close to touching something real, but never being able to cross some invisible boundary. And simply observing everything from a distance.

So much. Too too much.

No wonder the focus for so long was simply surviving.

With those circumstances, how could he have done anything else?

Become someone else?

Either he's dreaming or he's detaching from everything, daydreaming, almost, but not quite.

He can't be sure.

There's something happening around him, something happening in the world, but he isn't in it.

Far away, where it's safe.

How can he learn to trust? How can he do anything?

No wonder he's quiet on the outside.

The things he wants to say never make it past his prickling thoughts.

He has a feeling if he did say them aloud, people would think very differently of him.

But he never did say them.

Something held them back.

Fear or doubt, undoubtedly.

The irony in that statement isn't lost on him.

He might just be staring at a wall or something equally random and mundane outside of himself, but inside, he's an endless swarm of countless deep thoughts.

Some, terrifying, others, perhaps not.

Maybe it's a good thing, maybe not.

Or maybe it's something in between.

Either way, he thinks, Either way, there has to be a way to channel this into something. Something that could help someone.

He thinks and he thinks maybe he does have an idea.

It flashes to the back of his mind almost immediately, forgotten, and he tries to find it again.

But it manages to elude him for quite some time.  

He smiles when he pins it down.