And there he was; sitting on his window with cigarette in his hand. He had this overwhelming urge to put out the cigarette somewhere on his skin. He was desperate for pain. I'm surprised he didn't have enough of that after the whole day was waisted because he had withdrawal seizures. He did it. The smell of the burned skin was disgusting, he was disgusted by himself. He started to think about the boy. What would he say? How would he react? But... why would the boy care about him. Why would anyone care about him? He felt lost again. He fell down to the whole of depression again. I can clearly see him staining in bed for the rest of this week only getting up for a cigarette and cup of coffee. Why is he doing this to himself? Why can't he be just happy with everything he have.
