Life is what you make it.

He sits in his room with his music blaring.
He is drowning out the sound of his parents fighting.
He crys most of the time just wishing that someone would take him away.
Away from this place, someone to love him.
Maybe a new family.
He knows it won't happen.
He looks over at his nightstand.
Terrified, because he knows at any minute he will reach in there and grab it out.
That razor.
The one that holds so many memories.
Memories of all his tragedys.
He starts working on both arms.
A total of 27 all togethor.
He feels no pain.
Because when most of his life has been pain, he doesn't remember what it is anymore.