October 8, 2024
I've bared my soul far too many times; I'm practically naked. The thin veil between self- preservation and self-destruction covers my aching bones. I don't know how much longer I can take it. This display of caricaturizing myself for others entertainment could be seen as a cry for help, a catharsis of the year's undoing's. Or, it could just be the distribution of my pieces, left to the consumption of others. What they do with it once it has left me, I am unsure. But I hope they savor it, letting their tongues envelop my words like it is the last thing they will ever taste. My hope is that my divulgence, my expulsion of all things genuine and broken is not for naught. Not an empty cry, trapped forever in an echo chamber for only me to hear; but that my heart means something, to anyone, that may come across it. If not, what was this all for?
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