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#uhm ive never really posted writing before except that one rothko thing that doesnt count but uh yeah uh here i just wanted to post it cause
bandomgay · 9 months
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I kill myself every day and wonder why this body gets colder and my joints more rigid than the night before, I'm nestled so far in the dirt with beings of language I can't understand then ask them ten thousand reasons of why I can't.
I see them as small and insignificant creatures not out of shallowness nothing like my ghoulish grave but out of difference out of ostracization , I wonder if clawing out of the grave was my first mistake i wonder if noticing the difference in our being was the first mistake
i wonder why i followed my own body through rustic trees never to be untangled maybe i was far out of my own bounds and the only person i could ever blame was myself , I blamed myself laying there a rotting body found under floorboards of my own design, I buried myself here I killed myself here and it's just as fuzzy as the first time or maybe this was infact the very first time
you lose count after awhile just like you lose count of the worms and bugs, they live on and you fade out to nothingness and infinite sea of unbecoming and id sooner welcome it than i welcome the bugs and worms for this body has never belonged to me so I come to understand this as natural. the bugs must consume this body so I let them
eat , eat , eat
till I am nothing I often in time i wonder if this is just another suicide I wonder if this is just another death I am doomed to repeat I wonder if I can point the blame at myself for this one too
I wonder who can point the finger at who?
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