a journal entry i found from when i was 15
i feel as though im dying from the inside out. has a young girl ever died from old age? i can bathe in soapy water and spray myself with expensive perfume, i can eat daintily, dust and paint my face with makeup, keep my clothes pristine. but what is inside me i can’t do anything with.
would anyone love me if they saw more than a husk? heard more than a voice? would they forgive my green grey rot of thoughts? would they touch my decay? no. we all step away when the body starts to smell. they wouldn’t know. it’s not their fault.