I looked through the lens with a cloudy haze, not truly knowing how stuff really works. I look at my reflection through the haze and cringed at the sight of my horrible state. But others saw a handsome and charming young teenage boy, wearing long sleeves to cover his arms. When he was alone, he painted away, but his paint a red shade and the paintbrush a blade. He painted his pain from the inside out, showing the scars produced from the life he lived. His battle raged on and his body took blows, but soon he would realize the truth for himself. The lens would be clear and his view would be bright, and he would stay asleep throughout the night. His sleep would be sound enough for him not to stir and leave him too busy to slit his wrists more. He would find a way to live his life even with battle scars from his past fight.