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Summary
The floor felt cold underneath his legs, his head was throbbing and he was pretty sure he was bleeding somewhere near his hand - or maybe his arm? He didn’t know, he was a complete mess and he was sure his boyfriend would be home soon. And had him wondering; would it be bad? His perfect boyfriend found him like that, fallen on the ground, a bottle of alcohol (which was broken) beside him, his rimel and eyeliner ruined by the unwished tears, blood dripping from the cuts he had because of the glass. Maybe that wasn’t as bad as it seems, maybe he was just exaggerating. Maybe what was bad was finding him like that and realizing he was out of his body, somewhere deep in his mind, a blank (and probably lifeless) stare at the white ceiling.
Or:: The Author is sad and made a shitty vent post.
