Bone China and Cleansing with Fire.

Humans are fragile little things, scared and small and shaking.
The more I know myself the more I know I am not one of those things.
One of these things is not like the other...one of these souls has busted loose the tether.

I feel strong, and full of fire. Something is shifting, the tide is rolling back from the shore. And it's revealing smooth obsidian will. My will is stronger than my pain.

Fuck you, existential crisis. I have you in my clawed little hands this time. Let's see how long it lasts, shall we?

And the dance begins.

Just let me see your eyes widen, my love.

As I lay drifting in and out of wakefulness this morning, the soft skidding sounds of early morning commute beginning to rouse me, my hand ran along my own flank.
I was so startled that consciousness rushed back to me like the bed was spinning. I can feel my hipbones again.

My collarbones twitch under the skin now, and I saw a rib poke out the other day.

And it terrifies me. To my very marrow. To the molecules that make up my marrow. Can I be good? Can I be pure and sane? The urge to crush and dominate is so strong in me that I fear without a layer of fat and ugliness to separate us that I shall become a callus cruel thing again.

Sharp like glass, cold and lovely like diamonds. But dead all the same.

A dusty old Chromaharp...

My fingers started to bleed around the edges, and I don't care.

I've been picking out songs already, playing them low and sweet and knee-length dress sexy. My fingers know the keys, and my voice aches to sing as loud and high as it can.
But I have to stretch it out, go slow.

Songs are already pouring out of my mouth, some too quickly to remember.

Shark tanks and secrets...

My insides hurt so much today.

Little boys and little girls with incomplete hearts leaving trails of broken hearts behind them. Mine keeps bending and bending, but not breaking.

I almost wish it would.

Broken hearts, broken dreams, smothered all with silent screams.

More and more holds me down here...

I don't think salvation lasts. It has an expiration date on it.

I can see my energy caught inside a sterile and soulless glass cataloged jar, on some cosmic bureaucratic sorting shelf. And I'm pretty certain that my status is written in the equivalent of dry-erase marker.

But I just want to set it all on fire...

For the first time in my life I am secure, surrounded by safety and softness.

But self reflection feels like staring into the void. Self reflection is self absorption at this point.