He fells the sharp blade on his skin. Pain. Blood. Anger. Why? Why couldn't he stay clean from self harm for some time? He felt the cold-sharp blade running trough his skin and flesh smoothly like a ballerina. He felt the relief. He felt the pain. Bathroom ground was cold, smooth and filled with blood. Why does he think of the boy again. This is not a good time to think. He shuts down his mind, so now he lays on the cold bathroom floor, bleeding, not thinking and giving a shit about the world.
