Shame, such a shame.
I think I kind of lost myself again.
These black blossoms sprouting from my mouth.
They only do pain.

These words crumbled off his breath into the mud at his fingertips. He sat, carving useless holes in the useless mud with his useless knife. Everything was a lost cause. Just so darn obvious.

Spell after spell.
Everything's so weak.
And they attract the bad ones.
It's hurt that they seek.

Another hole was carved into the mud. This one was large. His silver Potion's knife was mostly covered in the juice of berries, which was now joined by the streaks of mud. A very exciting, worthwhile activity. He needed to be stronger.

Not strong enough.
Cowardice? Surely not.
I only want to strike them.
To make their cheek hot.

He raised his fist steadily above the dirt pile. And struck it. His fist half-wedged in the soil. Not reaching his statisfactions, he stood up, and stripped down to his shorts. No one was around, it was late. And with that, he jumped. And the sweet bliss of the iced water met him, taking him under the protective barrier. No pain could reach him now. He was safe.