Sinopsis
He's already bathed in the hot tub, numb from painkillers. Your mind is a mixture of colors, sounds and selfish thoughts. Voices in an invisible audience, asking you to use that razor blade, and cut your arm as deep as possible. Cut until the arterial blood spurts, until the world fades away and only the cold and stiffness of rigor mortis remains?
He was a poet, a prophet of death. At the Forum, his words inspired others like him to find a way.
Clarice, on the other hand, was a victim of guilt. An innate guilt that led to the absolute scourge of her soul.
The two meet after exchanging SMS messages.
Then He teaches her what the word Schadenfreude really means.
And like your Atropus, I would cut your cut.
Escrito por
Ver perfilEstender a mão, cumprimentar com um menear de cabeça, levantar apenas o polegar e dar um longo sorriso. Há tantas formas de se apresentar. T...
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