his body lay there quiet, moderately breathing but absolutely unmoving.
on his right hand was the last taken photograph of him and him in which they had the same matching big, auburn eyes, same lemon hair, same cream skin, and they were the same, beautiful boys.
and all that was not the same were two things: he was bright and breathing, he was dark and dying.
at last, laying in his left hand is a sharp, metal knife edge.
because now, he learns
that the edge of a razor blade was nicer than the words of the one he loves,
and the people bordering him could spit out.
YOU ARE READING
beautiful boys | completed;
Short Storyin which a beautiful boy learns that the edge of a razor blade is nicer than the words of the one he loves, and the people bordering him could spit out. ▬ may 2016 © reichelle torres #4 in gloom 080120 #195 in taygetsthegay 072420 #2 in theloveso...
