all my posts are the same these days. my edges are blurring. can
you see through me yet? can you see what's behind?
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i cannot feel my body beneath this soft flowing grecian dress.
the wind whips through and i evaporate, ephemerate into particles of dust. i
want to disappear because i do not exist. poof. smoke and ash.
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my stitches itch and drive me crazy.
stop reminding me of this body i do not want. i just wanted to cut through to
see what was underneath, but i didn't even get that far. i am still suspecting
it's hollow in there, a great black dank cavity where all this dissonance is
stored.
but i am too many fragmented parts to find a starting point.
waif with a festering mold inside. the kind you find in your fridge four months
after you thought you lost that mixing bowl, the kind with green and brown
hillocks and valleys to study and examine in fascination. the kind where you
cover your face for fear of inhaling the spores. i try to cut it out and starve
it out and sick it out and intellectualize it but it's spreading and i do not
know how to stop it. in birds it's called asper
and it's fatal. in me it's called trauma and i refuse to die.
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