(no subject)
The novel hotness of my new hairstyle has all but worn off in a spasmodic and less-than-satisfying haze. It seems especially useless when half of the people i know have yet to see it (or me) within this past 2 week period.
But overall i've just been feeling extremely goddamn ugly lately. I'm in some sort of attention-whoring plea for other people's saliva. Lost amidst my own questions about what is right and wrong in regards to other people and their idiotic choices.
My current example is as follows. I know a girl who is of the meager age of 15. She is what we call a "cutter". Now this is quite a common problem among girls (and increasingly boys) throughout America's schoolsystems. I myself know the pleasures of those pains. I myself can speak of the tragedies of when it just plain goes too far and somebody slides icily in a vertical Z-line up the vein. Believe me...i have been there, done that.
But i feel as though the last thing i should be doing is telling this girl to stop. I feel compelled to indulge her sick fantasies and just agree. It's not some sick way of me clearing out overpopulation no not at all. I just feel as though...for the most part an older, more experienced life influence on me at that stage in my life...to negatively re-inforce me on my idiocy might have been enough to drive me over the edge. So i sit down once in a while and i tell her stories of where i would do it, and how, and with what. Every so often she sends me pictures of her biceps torn into paper thin shreds and the blood smeared on her forehead.
I find them beautiful, not repulsive, or sick.
This is a touchy suspect because it is an addictive lifestyle that can become so quickly over-the-edge that death is literally 1/64th of an inch away. I know that my encouragement may well be viewed as "assisted suicide". Quite frankly, with all of the suicide that i have seen in my days...i know as well as anybody it's devastation.
I still find myself drawn to it.
I still fantasize about my body floating pale and weak onto some distant shore, where the locals are terrified but bury be...believing that i am perhaps a political exile from a unholy, unworthy country. I wake up in the middle of the nght, tasting the blood in my mouth and feeling light headed from all that i've swallowed by way of my violent punches and tongue bites.
I still lie down on my bed with a flashlight...and slowly peel off each layer of my clothing, moving the light 360 degrees in a futile attempt to find the perfect pose...the perfect picture...the perfect physical allure that has persuaded my own appreciation for so long.
Fingertips brushing gently across my unfairly designed, improperly alligned, and overly protruding hipbones.
I feel as though...i am nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast. Who would ravage the masses with one sharp and hateful glare of my slate grey eyes...
...I feel this, in spite of being nothing more than a harmless teddy bear a mere single year ago.
I often play the devil's advocate for my own simple superficial pleasures. For the ungodly arousal of watching people squirm. I pray on emotions, vulnerabilities, and taboos like any parasite.
And when this all crosses my mind the word "Hideous" carves itself into my hippocampus.
And i feel like perhaps the sight of my own blood on the wall until sight escaped me...
...Wouldn't be so much at all, because like a true parasite my life is nothing more than taking blood, and losing it in the end.
But overall i've just been feeling extremely goddamn ugly lately. I'm in some sort of attention-whoring plea for other people's saliva. Lost amidst my own questions about what is right and wrong in regards to other people and their idiotic choices.
My current example is as follows. I know a girl who is of the meager age of 15. She is what we call a "cutter". Now this is quite a common problem among girls (and increasingly boys) throughout America's schoolsystems. I myself know the pleasures of those pains. I myself can speak of the tragedies of when it just plain goes too far and somebody slides icily in a vertical Z-line up the vein. Believe me...i have been there, done that.
But i feel as though the last thing i should be doing is telling this girl to stop. I feel compelled to indulge her sick fantasies and just agree. It's not some sick way of me clearing out overpopulation no not at all. I just feel as though...for the most part an older, more experienced life influence on me at that stage in my life...to negatively re-inforce me on my idiocy might have been enough to drive me over the edge. So i sit down once in a while and i tell her stories of where i would do it, and how, and with what. Every so often she sends me pictures of her biceps torn into paper thin shreds and the blood smeared on her forehead.
I find them beautiful, not repulsive, or sick.
This is a touchy suspect because it is an addictive lifestyle that can become so quickly over-the-edge that death is literally 1/64th of an inch away. I know that my encouragement may well be viewed as "assisted suicide". Quite frankly, with all of the suicide that i have seen in my days...i know as well as anybody it's devastation.
I still find myself drawn to it.
I still fantasize about my body floating pale and weak onto some distant shore, where the locals are terrified but bury be...believing that i am perhaps a political exile from a unholy, unworthy country. I wake up in the middle of the nght, tasting the blood in my mouth and feeling light headed from all that i've swallowed by way of my violent punches and tongue bites.
I still lie down on my bed with a flashlight...and slowly peel off each layer of my clothing, moving the light 360 degrees in a futile attempt to find the perfect pose...the perfect picture...the perfect physical allure that has persuaded my own appreciation for so long.
Fingertips brushing gently across my unfairly designed, improperly alligned, and overly protruding hipbones.
I feel as though...i am nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast. Who would ravage the masses with one sharp and hateful glare of my slate grey eyes...
...I feel this, in spite of being nothing more than a harmless teddy bear a mere single year ago.
I often play the devil's advocate for my own simple superficial pleasures. For the ungodly arousal of watching people squirm. I pray on emotions, vulnerabilities, and taboos like any parasite.
And when this all crosses my mind the word "Hideous" carves itself into my hippocampus.
And i feel like perhaps the sight of my own blood on the wall until sight escaped me...
...Wouldn't be so much at all, because like a true parasite my life is nothing more than taking blood, and losing it in the end.