Jun 13, 2013
And he was doing it again, sitting under a bridge, with a coat fallen beside the body. The body with purple spots, bodies fallen around, his chest bare, he took the knife from his pocket, he pressed the blade against his own stomach, the pain was not bothered, not as he had done so many times, he dropped the knife, supporting head against the wall, his eyes emotionless. When all that sadness go away?
The bleeding would stop eventually, he would wait a bit, grabbing and twisting the knife in his hand, sighing. And thus pressing the blade once again in the leg, making another row. Stopping when he saw a shadow. Looking the other, who was he?
