I don't know why I hate myself so much.
How can I loath the body I was gifted,
Cry over the sincereness of my very own personality.
How can I tear down the height of my happiness,
Look myself in the delusive mirror just to accept it's biting lies.
How can I break this beastly habit?

i'm two traits converged into one messy finger painted paradox
a disposition to do good, but i have maleficent intentions set in
stone, my mind shows me how i look in the mirror but the threads
of my body are like looking through a window, then again, who isn't
wondering about the reality other people hide like a facade, cleverly
subdued and sinking me in cold water until the ice is all i've ever known
love is a difficult topographic setup, unable to be evened out
inconsistant roads and treasonous dead ends bother me because
it's potential to break my interior and exterior, but what do i
matter? sticks and stones don't bother me, it's the words that
break my bones and assist my architecture i carefully built
along with my empire built from my bare hands to tumble
haphazardly out of my reach, pulling these weights along my
feet for some type of hope that things will finally become clear

- kra