I clean up the mess left behind by my father and climb the stairs getting into the shower.
I grab my life support and find a new place on my arm to cut.
Each scar representing another battle I survived, but winning a battle doesn't mean you win the war.
Getting out the shower, I pull out the cigarette and light it realizing I don't care about living I just need to survive.
YOU ARE READING
Summer and Winter
KurzgeschichtenA story of how the snow fell in love with sun. Cover by @kaykay113226