This story is dedicated to Blood , the blood luster. Thanks for being the greatest gothbitch friend.*
He layed sprawled all over the floor, wrists cut open. No, he didn't attempt to commit suicide. All his problems had gathered up, they were drowning him. He couldn't cry, tears weren't a remedy at the moment. He needed something stronger, something that would express one word in a million ways. He looked at his left wrist he noticed how the blood oozed out of his wrist, out of the soft flesh, and ran to stain the carpet. This is what he wanted, this was the feeling he craved, the feeling he needed. Every pint that spilled out of him, expressed his feelings in many wondrous ways.
He found himself staring at the ceiling, he try to focus his eyes more, but little by little the ceiling was being sucked by a hurting white light. What was this? Was he going to die? Was he going to finally sleep in peace and silence? But he didn't want to die, he just wanted to be relieved of a hard agony. But little by little he found himself caring less and less. While his life was slowly and peacefully leaving his bleeding body.
