𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨_𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

✰_Picasso Blue/January Blues_✰

Brian looks into the mirror in the hallway of the old house somewhere in Europe, which he purchased last year...it's pretty old, but comfortable...
His reflection is a heavy contrast to the picture you see on the internet, his eyes like swimming pools, his make up all over his face...
It just hasn't been a good couple of weeks, or months even, his mood constantly low, today as he was taking a walk in the hope of bettering his mood he just couldn't hold it back any longer...
Warm tear were running down his pale, hollow cheeks taking the carefully applied mascare with them...
Now back home in the mirror he sees a face that he doesn't recognise, quickly he turns away and hangs his coat up and puts his dirty boots away...

In the living room he falls onto his sofa, this feeling is back since some days, the urge to cut the pale soft skin of his thigh...
The dark haired man burried his face in his strong hands with the black painter nails, a sudden fatigue has come over him, the kind you only get when your depression has thightend their grip on you and just leaves your soul jawning for salvation...
Brian takes a deep breath before getting his tired bones off of the sofa and slowly walking up to his master bathroom...

The 51 year old looks at the razorblade so fragile between his index finger and his thumb, "I'm too old for this shit, that's what you do with 16 not with 51" he sais to himself...the look on his face shows that he couldn't even convince himself of what he had just said...
It's been a couple of years, even tho every now and then he gets "weak" for the blade if you wanna say it like that, every time he think it'll be the last time, he's getting older, "some day you just stop", that's what he's always thought, but will he, Brian isn't sure anymore...

The black haired man sits down on the bathroom floor, his thin silhouette leaning against the bathtub...he then unbuttens his True Religion pants, striving them of leaving his legs bare.
His left leg is already covered in scars, not all too noticeable at first sight they raise from his skin, it's been a while after all. He stares at the mess he'd made of himself in all those years of self destruction, it once was simply something that he had started doing when he was a teenager, never had the young Brian Back then thought it would stick around this long and leave him this scarred.
Under his finger tips he can even feel them, he can feel the skin nearly ticking yawning for more...
Brian presses the blade to his leg and slides it over the skin, as he picks it back up a crimson red line has already formed slowly spitting out red blood drops, just for them to roll down his leg and onto the dark bathroom floor...
Cutting himself has just always been something he could rely on, it's cheap, always available and just nearly like a toxic friend to his soul after all those years...
Again and again he dragged the razorblade over the already existing scars, cutting himself, forming fresh ones on top of the old faded ones...
The old familiar sting sets in, the older men closes his eyes, his head is empty, still the tears keep flowing...
An other cut will do, as he lifts the sharp metal again he sees how the cut slightly gapes open and only slowly fills with blood, something about the pain, about the blood just calms him down...

The thight True Religion Jeans aren't the right choice, so the lonesome man walks into his bedroom the blood still running down his leg, to grab a pair of sweats, with which he again sits down on his sofa, the blood slowly soaking the fabric, feeling the fabric rub over the fresh wounds, creating the old familiar sting...

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678 Words!

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