I feel sick when I think about it really hard. That little girl in those pictures, with the huge smile, tiny arms and legs, cute little tummy. Limbs used to walk and play and create. I see those hands hold razor blades to her wrist, grasp her head in anger, throw things at people who love and want to help her. Her pudgy tummy go concave from starvation and purging, those little legs that used to carry her still read ‘FAT’ in red scar tissue. those little fingers that used to paint hold cigarettes between them, that turn those once healthy little lungs black.
you are nothing more than a wilted flower. you have succumb to bedlam and vain corruption. the accumulated thoughts like mildew have hypnotically lead you to believing you are nothing. like a sheep wearing the thin skin of the wolf you are revering all the bones we had once believed to be hideous. and where will this lead you? to an enchanting Arcadia with all of your old mates in a gratifyingly accepting environment? Shangri-La? into the arms of a slightly stupid individual?