Some people keep it simple, claim their body is a temple, a holy relic of the divine and use religions to sedate their mind.
But my body is a prison, made up of all my bad decisions, though I keep on living through the struggles I was given.
Shadows burn like acid, with secrets held so tight that I cramp inside.
Others like to smile, party, and go wild being free in the moment letting nothing slow them, till they grow old an their temple falls down.
But my body is a library, full of words and thoughts that are super scary, a universe inside a small box. Boundaries once made turn to jagged edges, then blur, as all I see and learn makes me disturbed.