Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Even though it makes me feel reduced.
Cheap and empty and hollow
and sickened by myself.
As dirty as the yellow-blue smudges
marks from harsh hands
on my skin.
Even though I have to lie to myself
and sleep in a different room
simply to live with myself in the morning.
Even though I don't want it--
any of it--
I have to persuade myself that I am
real.
The baby birds outside my window are dead. ;-;
I woke up and there was PERFECT SILENCE outside.
I got sunburned like crazy on Saturday. I hate being pale. All my freckles are coming back into sharp relief.
I love the sun, but it hates me.
Two years in the shade and it only takes one day outside to undo all my work.
ARGH.
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Daevyr's Log: Titles Are Overrated
It's just a place where I keep thoughts or images that I want to be able to find later.
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