Stop.

The mirror.

What can he see?

Hollowness.

Basically bones.

Lifeless eyes.

Cracked lips.

Tears on his cheeks.

Tears on his fists.

Fist meets glass.

Shattered mirror.

Shattered boy.

Blood stains.

Tear streaks.

Pain.

Glass on the carpet.

Glass staring back at him.

The feeling of being haunted.

No logic.

Just pain.

Heartbeat speeding up.

Pulse rising.

Breath hitched.

Face red.

Mind gone.

Tears still there.

Vision is blurry.

Soul is blurry.

A world tinted red.

Pain.

Why is there so much pain?

It isn't fair.

Correction.

Life isn't fair.

He doesn't remember his name.

That doesn't matter to him.

He just wants to go home.

Home is nonexistent.

Scared.

Scared, lost, alone, afraid.

He can't see.

He can't think.

There's only pain.

The glass at his feet is broken.

His heart is broken.

Everything around him feels broken.

Feel.

The word sounds foreign.

He's forgotten the meaning.

Perhaps there never was a meaning.

Every ending is disappointing.

The book closes.

Forgotten morals.

An existence without meaning.

Without purpose.

Nothing left.

No.

That's wrong.

There is something.

Pain.

He wants to save them.

He can't.

He knows he can't.

There's nothing he can do.

It slowly tears him apart.

Pain is the lion and he is the antelope.

Screaming.

Intense agony.

Tears faded.

Pain still there.

Blood dried.

There's always the pain.

It's become horribly reliable.

Stop.

He wants everything to just stop.

It's more than a want now.

It's like a disease.

It's physically ruining him.

A mangled body left in scraps.

He's left to die and nobody cares.

Pain.

It's locked inside his chest.

Key lost.

It's hidden beneath his eyelids.

Blindness.

It's flowing through his infected veins.

The inability to move.

It.

Has.

To.

Stop.