I want to tear the flesh off my face and reform it something loosely into the form of beauty.

Storms of sorrow rage inside a hollow brain while waves splash against the sides and pull away sanity as if it was sand. Those stuck in this torturous storm clutch at the waves as you would a blanket waking up from a nightmare.

I cannot wake from this nightmare.

I wish to leave my mortal body as a pursuit of the cleansing of the soul. I never liked this body. It is claimed of the merciless moon who sings a solemn song of pain that harbors in its host's words. It sings of those who are helpless.

I feel helpless.

I have no faith to rely on, no voice to sing with, no talent to allow me to be known.

I want to be known.

I am not known.

I want to leave this monster of a body.

I want to sleep in the rain so I may cleanse my soul of mortal sins and breathe once again.

It is all I want.

But I have been taught wanting does you no good.

And I do not know what to do.

So I do nothing.