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Isla Mcgrath Mar 2
I am designed to rot.
I am a disgusting, foul,
moulting creature
masquerading as human.
My skin peels,
My lips bleed.
Out of every crevice pours
litres of vile anxiety.
My stomach broils
with a sense of
worthlessness and undeserving.

You are the light
You float as a feather
Falling from heaven
To the earth.
You are charm
You speak with wit
And intently too.
Your calculated artistry
Mocks my grotesque earnesty.
You are holy. I am wrong.
I should not be who I am.
Luck seeps through my
veins in buckets.

I am an imposter amongst gods.

— The End —