the machine told me to do it. that’s my story and i’m sticking to it. i am velcro.

my makeup, also known as my foundation, is literally titanium. the irony is in the language. i suppose my body reacts in a similarly ironic manner. in regards to pain, there is little. i wake up to drown in poison. otherwise, i let my mind travel beyond inside cocoons of comforters. rarely do i cry, but how much liquid is one able to excrete? sometimes i think that i must be all dried up. still, i sweat and i sweat.

i’ve been told my smile has the ability to light up my entire face, but my eyes are hollow. fair enough. i hide beneath the assault of blasting harmonies and strings on my eardrums. these are the times i allow myself to get lost in thought. lost thoughts seem nothing compared to the loss of a soul.

have i confided in you, now? do you feel that i’m being open? i can’t help the sense that none of this means anything, but i will not give up. i will not let go.

many will say i already have.

i'd be thrilled to hear your true, uncensored thoughts. i'd also love to read your writing.