(no subject)
Every day Andrew woke up to a battle he would always win. Out from the trenches of his bed he was born into the [happenings] of a life poised to start taking something away from him, be it his psyche, health or self. Across cold tile he trekked, his toes beginning to numb; into the washroom where the chill latched onto his skin and he bore it. And every day he poured a [unit] lysterine into the measuring cup and sucked it into his mouth. He looked into mirror with intensity as he swished the liquid in his mouth, It burned his mouth, but he kept it going for thirty seconds, like the directions prescribed. And this was one battle he never lost.
The rest of his day was downhill from that early victorious moment. The rest of his day stole him of something, something little every day from his psyche, health and self.
Until one day he met [a new person] was [put into a new situation].
[i'm too tired to finish]
The rest of his day was downhill from that early victorious moment. The rest of his day stole him of something, something little every day from his psyche, health and self.
Until one day he met [a new person] was [put into a new situation].
[i'm too tired to finish]