This body writhes under pressure, the true symphony spewing false sympathy. An underwater oasis filled with sand and spiny cacti. The blistering heat shimmering illusory sensations.
What I’m talking about isn’t dealing with recreation. This education doesn’t involve metaphysics, the forbearer taking lessons in physical exclusion. I can’t be explanatory anymore than I can be intelligent, for I am in the midst of metamorphose. Personal gratification. Selfish desires. Read this and understand my willingness to adhere; listen as I practically beg...
Give me something.
But what can I get from you? More importantly, what can you give me in return? Inspiration. Maybe an ego?
Maybe that’s asking too much.
So along with a sense of personal alterations, this diary is undergoing construction as well. The negativity must go....
