I was born screaming, yanked out of my mother's womb, ****-naked and wailing. If only I knew the life that I would live, I'd tie the umbilical cord around my tiny neck, scratch my paper-thin skin with newly grown nails. It wouldn't make a difference to now, my hands digging for something deeper than blood and veins. I am hair and *******, painted with scars, breathing just to stay alive. I am alive but not living. I am as alive as I was in an embryonic sac.