I no longer have the will to mutilate myself with harsh shrieks and crooked lines. It'd only make since if i got rid of the objects, but yet i keep them hidden, just behind all my lies. I honestly have to purpose for them, but i just can't demolish them, because what if one day i decide to create a new purpose for them? Maybe I'm just afraid of change, but that hasn't stopped me for the past year or so. There's been nothing but change, yet those tools stayed secluded, no longer creating any masterpieces. One thing that has remained the same from the start is my tendency to self destruct at any given hour. So sure, there may no longer be a sea of untold stories written all over my body. But the tsunami in brain is on the verge of overflowing. Just one more storm, and this whole ship could be wrecked. The passengers haven't even noticed a change, probably wouldn't mind if the whole ******* ship ran into the bay. So maybe it's true that I'm afraid of change; because in the past five years, the only thing that's changed is the way i chose to paint my picture.