mono
I hope my last breath is a sigh of relief.
- Jul 11, 2023
- 47
I wrote a story story / poem type thing about my issues with self image. Hope y'all enjoy 
I can't help but stare into a mirror for what feels like hours, analyzing every inch of my face, my body, my scars. It feels like a black hole sucking me into the paralyzing glare of my own hate filled eyes, and the longer I look the more I feel that knot in my stomach tighten, and that uncomfortable lump in my throat begin to form.
I stretch and pull in my face until I can barely recognize my own putrid reflection. The stranger looks back at me in a taunting sort of way, mocking my body. my fists form a ball and I have to hold back every urge not to punch the mirror.
"Fuck." I murmured in a squeaky tone as that sinking feeling began to pool in my chest, tears swelling in my eyes.
As I feel my legs going numb all I can do is sob quietly on the floor until I gain the strength to sulk back into my dark and messy room.
The only place I can feel any sort of genuine comfort despite still occasionally being reminded of existence.
I still tent to witness others beauty on a pointless glowing rectangle that poisons my mind with thoughts of, "why can't that just be me?" or "why did i have to be born is this ugly human body of mine?"
A repetitive matrix of 'what if's and 'why not's that will never be answered, only duplicated by a fake god that forces me to endure the same paralizing pain in a pointless cycle of existence.
I can't help but stare into a mirror for what feels like hours, analyzing every inch of my face, my body, my scars. It feels like a black hole sucking me into the paralyzing glare of my own hate filled eyes, and the longer I look the more I feel that knot in my stomach tighten, and that uncomfortable lump in my throat begin to form.
I stretch and pull in my face until I can barely recognize my own putrid reflection. The stranger looks back at me in a taunting sort of way, mocking my body. my fists form a ball and I have to hold back every urge not to punch the mirror.
"Fuck." I murmured in a squeaky tone as that sinking feeling began to pool in my chest, tears swelling in my eyes.
As I feel my legs going numb all I can do is sob quietly on the floor until I gain the strength to sulk back into my dark and messy room.
The only place I can feel any sort of genuine comfort despite still occasionally being reminded of existence.
I still tent to witness others beauty on a pointless glowing rectangle that poisons my mind with thoughts of, "why can't that just be me?" or "why did i have to be born is this ugly human body of mine?"
A repetitive matrix of 'what if's and 'why not's that will never be answered, only duplicated by a fake god that forces me to endure the same paralizing pain in a pointless cycle of existence.
