Music engulfed his body, he swayed and tapped along to it, and made it look fancy - complex almost.
To forget everything, he just had to listen to the music, to let the beat enter his brain, to compose his own lyrics and make his own story.
In this world he was the master, he was god.
The way bodies merged together, how people who hate each other just throw away their feelings in that moment of music; he was that kind of person.
When he wakes up, his forehead is covered in sweat.
His heart is beating too fast,
His vision blurry,
His arms shaking.
He knew it was wrong, it was bad.
He had become obsessed, with being his own person.
With the happiness that would overcome him.
He never admitted it to himself, he never let anyone tell him.
He made sure of that.
Because this world couldn't be ruined.
His pristine world,
His clean world,
His world.
He wrote a note, for the time he knew it would be all over.
So he would at least be remembered.
For what he acheived.
For what he overcame.
You knew me as Franken Stein,
My only addiction was righteousness
My only obsession was you.