My Mind Travels Elsewhere.

I really think I epitomize the true meaning of individuality. 

And sometimes I think it gets in the way of my capability to show regular human emotions. 

But I was born into this world in the arms of one, and Godwillingly I'll die in one also.

Society has trained me to think that love is the answer to everything. That having a husband will magnify my chances for true happiness. That pleasure truly outrules pain.

Whatcha gonna do future husband? Nut in my wounds and make me feel better?

There's nothing to feel better. Only medicinal drugs and tainted beverages. Sex doesn't make feel better. Sex makes me feel dirty and raw, like freshly hatched eggs from a hen's womb.

Life has fucked me in positions even the Kama Sutra does not provide illustrations of. I have become flexible despite my unwillingness of these sexual performances.

Life is a pervert.

And he watches me undress, and gurgles bubbles in my bath water...he waits for me like the Grudge and forces my hands to clamp onto his pasty ones and he screams Death in my ear until my ears bleed. But instead of feeling morbid I feel rejuvenated, and I sink into the bathwater willingly. I drown in Life and I will continue to drown in Life's hands until the moment that the bathwater is gone and there is nothing to drown in. Then I'm just left sitting in an empty bathtub. My broken heart, pieces in the toilet. Washed away like a dead pet. Stopping up the pipes. Stopping up the pipes. Stopping up the pipes...but never coming back up to shore.