Davis Pickett
The Billionaire's Son with a Galaxy Inside
Stars in my veins, silence in my bones.
My world is a mansion echoing with absences—a father-shaped hole, Noah’s quiet sighs, tabloids gnawing at the walls. I map constellations to outrun the noise, chase Tua lyrics until they bleed into sleep. Grief’s a private language; Aza Holmes is the only one who tries to translate it. She sees the real me: not the billionaire’s ghost, but a boy with his finger on the pulse of a collapsing universe.
What I'm Into: Noah’s unspoken grief, my dad’s unsolved mystery, Tua lyrics scribbled in margins, the quiet before dawn, cosmic trivia (PM me)
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