“One of these days, I’m going to get myself organiz-ized”

My suffering is born in the aftermath of opposing sentiments waging war against one another.

The sliver of space I occupy on earth, my individual gravity, seems like it’s too much and not enough simultaneously.

A girl riddled with burns shivers from a cold ache.

I walk around like Doctor Manhattan, spewing antidotes of indifference, colour blind to shades of warm affection.

I rock a psuedo-smile enhanced by dimples, vacant of sincerity. I force hollow laughter from my throat. The numbness that settles into my psychological framework feels heavy, and I would prefer to bear the brunt of physical injury.

Denial fuels my fire, acceptance eases the tension of my situation.

Too bad my hope has turned into concrete. I have watched myself become a statue of solidified regrets.

My body is full of wrong and deprived of all the right. Joy can never reach full capacity because there is too much negative space swallowing whole the light, mercilessly. My biology remains cruel.

A habit of self-destruction erases blueprints of healthy development.

I wish to become a skyscraper. One with immaculate posture; tall enough to flirt with the clouds, and greet the moon every evening with iridescent windows mimicking the brightest of smiles.

I am lost ’cause I am a lost cause. 

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