He sniffles, shaking his goddamn head for the hundredth time, wiping his tears away furiously. "Fucking stop," he screams at his own reflection.
Its one of those days, he assumes. One of those fucking days. Where everything is so quiet yet so loud. Everything looks beautiful yet so disgusting. He is disgusting, he decides. "Look at how pathetic you fucking are." He blurts, a smirk formed on his dry, purple lips.
It is cold outside, in fact it is snowing. His body is cold. Freezing. His cheeks aren't supposed to be burning. His hands aren't supposed to be warm. His body isn't supposed to be naked when it's five degrees outside. His mind isn't supposed to be blank.
But everything that is not supposed to be, is actually happening.
He gave one last look at his reflection in the recently broken mirror, and went back to his bed. His safe bed.
He slowly gets under the blankets, covering his shivering body. His white sheets are now stained with fresh blood, mixing with the old stains, creating a work of art. Or at least thats how he sees it.
He smiles, with a teary eye, and looks at his knuckles that are now blue and bleeding. It comforts him; the look of blood. The pain. The more he punches the walls, mirrors and himself, the better he feels. It's a weight lifted off of his shoulders. Its a beautiful feeling; that is how he describes it.
With one last look, he drifted to a blank dream. With the thought that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay tomorrow. Maybe..
