I had imagined my existence as still and quiet. As if it were a painting, and all of the damage that was done weren’t aesthetically visible yet. It would all be unspeakable pain and no one would ever consider how it has lasted in me. I am dehumanized and I cannot have integrity or ambition. I can’t succeed in this life. The moments I breathe are filled with chaotic color and light. Space is preoccupied with the sweet brush strokes giving me life.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
I had imagined my existence as still and quiet. As if it were a painting, and all of the damage that was done weren’t aesthetically visible yet. It would all be unspeakable pain and no one would ever consider how it has lasted in me. I am dehumanized and I cannot have integrity or ambition. I can’t succeed in this life. The moments I breathe are filled with chaotic color and light. Space is preoccupied with the sweet brush strokes giving me life.
