sweetnepenthe

ok i had a mean thing posted a little bit ago so i'm deleting that and writing this instead...

I've ripped a hole through skin and bone, and deep inside I find more and more decay. I pick at the scabs, rip away the scars, tear away every sickening piece that reminds me of my mortality. My mediocrity. And deeper still, I find more skin, bone, muscle. I have never found beauty in the human body. Not the way most people do. It's a tool, to break away at the material self. Better yet, it IS the material self. I could go on forever about this... I hate what appear to be. I hate my disease, and even the normal things about me. But because I know there is something beneath the skin and bone, I am also fascinated with this body. Engrossed in the feeling of ripping myself apart in search of something more. Whether or not I mean that literally or figuratively, well that doesn't matter. I'm doing something, I'm searching. And, regardless of the pain it causes me, at least I'm moving forward. Which is more than I can say about most of the people I know.

We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion.