Cutting out the pieces of rot that have seeped through skin,
Carving down my hollow bone that can’t hold my weight,
Pulling out the soul of the person that isn’t me,
All feels so fulfilling in my empty eyes—

Until I look in the mirror and realize I was never “me”.

I am merely a corpse of someone else’s dignity, someone to hide, or someone to show.

My fate has been laid on an invisible contract that I shouldn’t have been old enough to sign, my bones have been shaped and contorted till they could pass as plastic—

A plastic doll whose face will never show the scars from carving myself into the perfect muse.