Your face breaks away. The mirror starts screaming at you. Punches in your mouth. Taste of red comes into your mind. It stops. Starts- tells you, to fuck it all off. Fuck it all away. The walls start laughing at you. Your fists doesn’t hesitate a second. PUNCH. It hurts like a warm blanket on your freezing soul. Again. And again. You’re in a rage. Watching yourself from outside. Having a room full of enemies. Walls. Cupboards. Tv. Everything.
The sun on the next morning, the glass all over the floor, the pulse in your broken fingerbones tell you the story of tonight. The fight. But who won now?