Tridea

Your classic grunge wannabe boy. Sort of. Really, he's down for being anything, as long as someone's talking to him. He goes on and on about not being a conformist- but then will do just about anything for some attention. This has, obviously, lead to a social media type presence, grinding against bedposts and lip-syncing words to his favorite gravelly voiced songs in order to catch the eyes of someone... or maybe many someones. He's actually really scared of ever contacting anyone who comments on his stuff- so he hasn't gotten anywhere with his pursuits yet.

He tries to talk like he doesnt care about the world- lidded eyes and a slow, hoarse voice, syllables dragged out to sound deeper than they are. He wants to be a poem.
Dirty and nasty and spoken fast, like a sinner's begs for forgiveness on their last breath. He wants to burn bright and explode into a puff of smoke, the sight stuck in someone's eyes like their first firework show. Tridea doesnt know if he deserves that sort of life, that sort of light, but his soul yearns and cries for it regardless. He doesn't want to be forgotten. He doesn't want to end this life and see the next and know that he didn't matter. He has to matter. He's going to make himself matter- even if mattering is just engagement from a ceaseless void of profile pictures he doesn't know.