Seventh blog entry - The bathroom monologue.

On this night beneath my unsanctified bare feet, I stand before a mirror, before I attempt to ravagingly cleanse myself. Eyes of longing sighing, an encaged feathered terrene entity finding itself prosaically extenuated, exhausted; it encapsulates my personage and in thy fuliginous eyes I see mine. 


Not effortlessly positioned have I accomplished this position, obverse to the mirror. Vertically obtrusive personal height has certainly proven not enough.

I must ridiculously step on this plastic untrusted particular staircase, my aching arching back wondering if it will consume it’s premeditated objective and mindlessly betray me,in such pain actually accordingly making me fall. Winter, summer and the spring motion trailing my spine.

I seem to torture myself this way, meticulously inspecting, eyes directioning at what I despise most.

The reflection is unnervingly warped, and as if natural it was it is what I think so. At least I think I think so, I have been told to believe, and have chosen to oblique. For if it was truly honest, madness would overcome me.

The rage I feel and have felt runs through my genes for the sins my predecessors had bottled up inside of their broken minds and cursed their bone marrow. Kindness runs through my veins, anger runs through my DNA.


Wonder if a body like this is a punishment higher than the aforementioned etherian liquid hell in itself, and I have grown: in size, in mind, and grown to despise it more than I despise the one who created it. 

Yet, I wish to be sweet, honeyed, candied for your senses, within limits of seven humane faculties, to peacefully defend myself against the aching of my genes, I will not blame my mother. 


Farewell, left and right reasons make me wish to break this mirror. 

Make it match my eyes. Lit match engulf me in flames.


Unsexed human nakedness reflection, this silvering surface inexorably smirks, it is poignant. However, is needed to let the water caress my essential skin. Cleanse me.

The ritual begins.

Light must be turned off, yet the vapor’s translucent color terrifies me, do not lit candles for witches will burn as well, dim as my soul the light must be. It is worthless; as I am too.

I'd much rather crack my ribs, each one, hear the crickets, listen to their legs; take one fragment of it out. The sin has met me, foremost I must and will create and corrupt myself of Eve. The bone will be stained and I’ll open my chest, white lily, crimson pomegranate.

Spill out my soul, continue to use the marbled object of cruelty; as knive, plurality of poverty, to cut my remaining person suit maze, my meat, for others to eat and nourish themselves on.

I claw at the debris of my chest in anguish. Someone, oh I pray, I beg, engulf my meat, devour my pain, swallow my regrets

The leftovers of my being, once have been upon a story, fat, muscles, anxiously feeling insect crawling non alive beings, the awaiting nerves and fluids, crave to be ingested, to feel useful for once. 

Continue my path, and do not put me to waste; I fall off this short stair.

Head full of thought hits the door, impacts the floor; collisions against the bottom of this acrylic sea which I had forgotten was overflowing from its top; I did, the crystalline porcelain surface didn’t break; I did.

My thoughts have divided me from reality, so I’ll marinate in titian roseate water I should not ingest.

Mirror, the mirror, I dream, I imagine; could I mirror the dream of my imaginative mind?

My eyes are a knot, closed.


- Who are you?

The question bounces, no answer.

- How are you?

The lustful giggling vibration stares back. It stops me.



An answer flies past my future present way and goes away so sluggishly fast I don't register it. And I feel impassionately sorry.

It’s a whisper, it’s a screech for help. It’s a yelp of pain.

Say it again. You must listen, Hear you no more. I can’t talk.

Should be I gentle to this body floating, amniotic fluid was the only still embracing me since the sinful admission.

It hurts to hurt you, you hurt me by hurting yourself as well, this child, you were a baby, I was a toddler, you were me and I have been you.

For tomorrow, It won’t change, but today I am the mirror and the waving reflexion shall stay, I will continue to think alive ideas and guzzle down my throat unestablished concepts, and I will continue to share them with you, me too.


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june

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Thanks


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xalli

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this writing is so beautiful n intense 💗 you're so wonderful at conveying emotion !


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You do flatter me profusely, thank you, I am grateful for such description of my writing. <3 ★

by Ceibot; ; Report

of course beautiful job

by xalli; ; Report