I am consumed by all that I lack and I have lost sight of the surface. Every waking moment, a constant reminder of what makes me undesireable. The face in the mirror, not a person, but an existance, one painfully suffered through and one disliked by the beholder. I am picked apart until what remains is a weary soul, longing for the comfort that comes with knowing one's worth, despite the unharnessed power to discover it. An endeavour I am unwilling to take and pathetically bound to apathy by my own chains. Acceptance lurks a lying presence whilst the essence of self-hatred opposes with worthless reason. For it knows its victory from days dawn, yet, it writhes at the taste of its cruelty. A pain that ceases to end until you do.

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