The writer has been using his tears for those unsent letter. He keeps on crying until that time came when he couldn't drop even a single tear to filled the papers that used to be verbose.
He decided to use his last resort.
"What is the point of calling yourself a writer if you are not writing?" he said to himself.
Then he cut his wrist and let the blood came out from it, happiness filled his system because he realized that it is easier than squeezing his bloodshot eyes.
He bleed and bleed and bleed...
"It hurts. But it is better than feeling nothing at all," he whispered with shivering and pale lips.
- paper cuts
