writing poetry is a way to exist, to attempt to emulate the beauty of the me that I'm not yet but the me that's inside of my head, and it's all spontaneous, nothing planned or rehearsed because rarely does anything come from it
listening to music is a way to exist, I reside somewhere in a line I interpreted to refine an alternative image of this body that I refuse to accept
dissociation is a way to exist, cause the loudness of my own ambitions and dreams and goals, or rather delusions, can distract from my own nightmarish self image, but only for a moment
self harm is a way to exist, as I hope that the me that I imagine is stronger than I am and can tolerate far more punishment inflicted by either myself or my fellow human
******* is a way to exist, cause the lust I experience is never more prominent than when there's truly nothing left for me and I've exhausted every other method, and there is nothing to do but give in to the most worthless way to feel a sense of purpose
Emorie is a way to exist, because she's an exquisite reflection of the life that I've always wanted, and what I wish I could see instead of what I get when I look into the mirror and see dead eyes and unfamiliar flesh.
yeah, it's my life. in my own words, i guess.