He sits in his dark, black covered room, crying. He asks for help as he slides the razor across his skin. Blood scatters from his veins, a look of pain shedding on his face. Why does he do this? His mother left him when he was only ten years old. His father shot himself when his mother left. He was placed in foster care until his grandmother came back from Montana. He loved his grandmother unconditionally but his grandmother just died of lung cancer. She was all he had left. Kids at school pick on him because of everything he is. They see the scars on his arms, and that fresh cut look on his wrists. They hope they can aggravate it enough to make him get what he wants. He slides that razor across his skin every night in hopes that one day he will finally build the courage to end his life. He justs wants to be happy.