He held the razor hesitantly,
and pressed it down,
drew a line along his wrist,
and watched as the red swelled down,
Red like the roses and the lipstick that reminded him of his ex.
Red that stood out against his skin like stars against the sky.
Red that was too beautiful,
against his ugly self.
It all started with heartbreak,
he had loved too much, still loved too much,[/indent]the first time he had picked up the razor was right after.
He couldn't believe it,
it had felt like dreams,
they were forever,
just like his scars,
just like the
Red that stood out against his skin,
like stars against the sky.
Red that was too beautiful,
against his ugly self.
He held the razor, no longer hesistant,
and pressed it down, with skill,
he drew the first line,
and wrote a story on his skin,
a story about a boy who loved too much,
that got hurt because through all the love he gave,
none was given in return,
he titled the story Red,
because it was
Red that stood out against his skin,
like stars against the sky,
Red that was too beautiful against his ugly self.
Red like the roses he had given her
and the lipstick that had graced her lips.
He held the razor firmly,
and pushed it down with force,
This was to be the ending lines of
his story titled Red,
Can you guess the end?