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#divinametamorphosis
Last night I was tracing my face. I felt my hollow eye sockets, my skull with all its details—my bones. I could feel all my bones. Just the mere thought of fully realizing that I am a walking skeleton and this flesh is nothing but a costume, waiting to be eaten by worms until it unravels what's beneath. But neither of them is who I actually am. My mind is a restless, vast universe shaped by concepts, thoughts, lives, different versions of existence, wide ranges of experiences, uncountable levels of perceptions. Fluid and formless. Yet, to be reduced into something static? When I look at my vague image in the mirror, I get stunned by the fact that this is what people get to perceive; this is the vessel that contains the deep oceans of my inner viscerality. I feel betrayed. Maybe because who I am physically does not reflect my inner depth. It rather resembles my father's face,or is it his mother's? Or her mother's? Perhaps it's not what I believe it to be. I didn't own it, nor did I choose it. I've always felt this gap between my consciousness and my external state—the one that belongs to tangibility, the one they can easily define and label—while I feel boundless. My body and mind are two separated entities that don't belong to each other. And that incoherence! I can feel it tremendously.
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Jan 8
Jan 8, 2026 at 11:06 AM UTC
VieNoir
Scrapes of Mind ( Midnight Sessions)
Last night I was tracing my face. I felt my hollow eye sockets, my skull with all its details—my bones. I could feel all my bones. Just the mere thought of fully realizing that I am a walking skeleton and this flesh is nothing but a costume, waiting to be eaten by worms until it unravels what's beneath. But neither of them is who I actually am. My mind is a restless, vast universe shaped by concepts, thoughts, lives, different versions of existence, wide ranges of experiences, uncountable levels of perceptions. Fluid and formless. Yet, to be reduced into something static? When I look at my vague image in the mirror, I get stunned by the fact that this is what people get to perceive; this is the vessel that contains the deep oceans of my inner viscerality. I feel betrayed. Maybe because who I am physically does not reflect my inner depth. It rather resembles my father's face,or is it his mother's? Or her mother's? Perhaps it's not what I believe it to be. I didn't own it, nor did I choose it. I've always felt this gap between my consciousness and my external state—the one that belongs to tangibility, the one they can easily define and label—while I feel boundless. My body and mind are two separated entities that don't belong to each other. And that incoherence! I can feel it tremendously.
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