my one and own.

he's sliced away at his skin over and over, leaving it to be almost a kink ritual at times, a catholic-like self beating at others. he's punished himself for hurting those he's least wanted to hurt, giving way to stupid decisions. he's been to places that the only way to feel the least bit sexual was biting through flesh with cool metal, letting the sting overtake him. he's been to places where full meals made him hate his body, where the scale flashing up 106lbs at him had him throwing off layers of clothing to be sure his actual weight did not exceed his metal number. he's cried himself to sleep with an empty stomach as he watched the numbers go up and down each passing day. he's stared into the mirror and picked apart every piece of his reflection. he can't say he's been happy about any of it. he's been battling his body for years. the temporary peace treaty has expired and he's falling, losing, running into retreat. he sees her in her own battle and tries to abandon his own to help her but his own battle starts to gain on him until he's drowning in the fight. he's so done with the fighting, yet the relief troops never come. maybe it's time to run from the fight, take her hand and head into the woods where the dissatisfaction with body image doesn't become an issue. it sounds like such a nice way to live, but he just can't bring himself to abandon the efforts he's put into learning to deal with civilisation. he'll just keep on floating in-between decisions, fighting because he knows no other way.  <3 <3