A Typical Evening

I crawled into the bed that sits in front of an ancient television set in my room, put on Marie Antoinette and the fan on high. I didn't even watch the movie. I lit some incense and pulled my blankets tight around me, facing the wall, curled into a ball. It would have been a comfortable, relaxing evening - if it weren't for the inescapable heaviness pushing me further towards the floor.

Every aspect of my body is a flaw, every inch filled with excess.

The heaviness of my body and the humming of my mind only intensify the itch I have to escape these outer layers of flesh. To escape the sensation that I take up a huge, unnecessary chunk of the earth and the air. To escape the fact that my existence does in fact leave marks in sand, dirt, snow.

Trying to escape the fact that I do exist has become a war.