twenty one pilots one shots

You Don't Know Me and I Don't Know You

A/N: So twentyonereasons and I were talking about jyler (again) and this idea happened so enjoy!

People Involved: Tyler

Warning(s): None

Mom and Dad sent me to my room to go to sleep at 10 o'clock, like they usually do, but I never actually go right to sleep. I usually stay up far later, but that secret stays with me.

I usually think once I retreat to the darkness of my bedroom. Sometimes I just can't sleep as I face my fear of the night. Sometimes the voice in my head keeps me awake, telling me things that I know wrong, but still end up believing once the sun comes up.

No one knows about my definition of a night life; living in a constant state of fear under the suffocating sheets and comforters, hearing voices that belong to you, but also don't, being under the complete mercy of an overactive brain.

Tonight, I'm thinking again, and I'm thinking about thinking.

My mind is a bustling city.

Car after car drives through it, each one determined to get to a certain destination.

They meander the highways of my sick mind, the music blaring from their car radios comes into my head until another song comes along.

The car horn honks and the drivers' angry yells translate into the doubt and insecurities that have planted themselves in my psyche, killing the green garden it used to be.

Sometimes, the cars crash into each other, the impact blossoming into the excruciating flowers that shoot up from their seeds, creating my constant migraines.

Sometimes, the cars will break down, feeding the suicidal roots that string out from my brain and into my nerves.

And the cars seem to break down a lot.

That's why I started writing. Putting my thoughts down was like putting up stop signs and traffic lights for the cars in my mind to follow.

But sometimes drivers don't follow those, so I just keep writing.

However, my heart is like a ghost town.

It's empty.

It just beats.

It's deserted, only used to portray emptiness and desertion; a once populous town left to the elements.

The only things left are the wayward tumbleweeds, the short-lived flies, and the crumbling structures.

But when did all the people leave, and when did all the ghosts come in?

Why did everyone leave in the first place? Were they tired of the boring, old place? Did they want to find somewhere new? Somewhere better? Or was it all a mystery?

I sighed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.

Since the heart is considered a muscle, does that mean my heart is weak and lacks the proper strength?

I guess. My heart hasn't been making me feel things lately. It's just making me feel empty, making me wonder why my heart ever started beating in the first place, when it would end up keeping a dead person physically alive.

And why couldn't it find the capacity to love? I thought suddenly.

I'm 17. Everyone at school has had at least one relationship. Some may get married in just a couple of years.

Me? I just walk around without purpose, without feeling.

I got out of bed, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.