I am the dagger I will drive into my heart to drain myself of my impurity.
Abandoned at conception, feeding off affection left behind. I’ll never know acceptance if people only come to me to die. All I’ve cherished will run from my embrace. Nothing will stay. Dwell in my debris, never knowing how it feels to be at peace. A confidence I could never conceive when the weight of insecurity becomes too much to bear. Perception will deceive me. Losing sight as I stare into a razor, to be rewarded collections of my flaws. I am the blade forced into my face, rearranging features for the pleasure of perfection.