Sometimes I've had the urge to use a glass, others, I consider the metal to be the ideal to see the blood spill and my veins will tear out without fear what the people will say. But I don't, he inhaled deeply and I stay static, waiting for the craziness to decide to lock himself up in the walls of his prison. I'm not so brave to feel the pain of the void coming to my side, I'm a coward who prefers the pain of the suffocating crowd. I'm a sophisticated masochist.
