It seems when the world has shrunk to a tiny fragment of what it used to be,
maybe in the shape of a human body, there is a greater urge to destroy it.
My world has shrunk to the shape of my body and I so want to destroy it.
I have done it once, and almost succeeded.
Everyday I walked around in a shell always one size too small for my soul
until one day even the shell began to wither out of fatigue. I refused to eat or sleep,
and whenever I did, those moments were wracked by guilt.
But here I am, still whole. I suppose I owe the universe an apology for that.
I am not seeking for attention nor sympathy. I need neither,
and I’d be so much happier if left alone to my own senses.
Being alone grants me the power to not be judged; to let everything flow
and waste away and not let anyone say that I’m “wrong".
Because whatever I do, I don’t really mind if I am or I am not.
Somehow, I just want people to know that I am going to try again.
And this time, who knows if I may succeed.
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