Clearly it was time for a change.

He knew it.
His friends knew it.
And more importantly, his lover didn't want to know it.

Whenever he glanced at his own reflection in some shoppe window or unsettled puddle he would hold his own hands back from tearing away his features in hopes of erasing the sad, angry, lost person they comprised.

But then, just like that, his strength left him completely.
His restraint became a thing of the past and all at once his nails dug irreversible gouges into the dark spaces beneath his eyes, his knuckles clenched mercilessly around his tongue, and his dirty fists pounded his ears into a ringing deaf submission.

And then he woke up.



The sun wasn't really shining and it wasn't really not shining. It was just the Sun.
His guilt wasn't really palpable but then it wasn't really without flavor. It was just guilt.

And that's when he first saw them.
The scarring gashes and bruises checkering the place that used to be his character.

If you can imagine the thrill of mystery combined with the angst of realization literally written all across a person's face then you might be able to grasp what he felt.

He was nearly ready to start the battering all over again when he stopped just long enough to read what he'd etched in his own visage:

At least when you're bleeding you know you can heal.