Colin
Oct 02, 2015
Colin Snow
The roar of the crowd fills the room.
Smell of smoke, alcohol and sex.
My club.
"The world's End".
The guitar stops crying.
I get off stange and I take a bottle.
I smile.
I look around.
Girls drooling. Boys shouting.
I take a bottle.
A sip for me and one sip for my hands, marked with wounds.
The amber liquid wet the wooden bench under my hand.
Secret: By night i go in the worst place in Boston, where they organize clandestine fights.
Until my harms hurt so bad that il'll be better to be dead.
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