The sky is bright blue.
Mesmerising.

The air is fresh and clean.
Beautiful.

This could all be a dream, but, it seems it's not.
As his nightmares have become his dreams.

Though, the pleasant picture fades to black, never to be seen again.

Cold, moist wind, blowing in all directions.
Horrible.

Blackness stained under fingernails.
Putrid.

He battered his tiny fist to feel something.
Just to feel something.
His stomach painted violet.

The bathtub filled to the brim with lukewarm water.
His fingers prune immediately.
His tears like rain in the tub.

Sinking his head down, wishing to be reborn.
A glass child, breaking at the seams.

Warm arms cradling a cold boy.
Reassurance is only temporarily comforting.
Tears stain the boy, seeping into his soul.

He knows they care, but they cannot help.
The scars covering his arms are apparent.
But he doesn't care anymore.

It helps him relax and washes away his sorrows.
The warm arms grip tighter.
"I won't go away."

He knows they care.
He's well aware.
But from beneath the warm cocoon.
He picks up a razor.

In a world full of people, nobody can help.
You live in isolation; full of self-doubt.