Jun 17, 2015
You skipped the instructions. You missed the warning signs. You misplaced every piece of me. But it didn’t matter because you were okay, you were whole. Your flaws were never brought to light. Your existence was never threatened or judged. Then you had the nerve to complain about my structure. This is what I get for letting a water-down version of perfection try to create me. At least I’m the kind of art that lives longer than the artist. And you no longer get any credit for it, because I redefined the mess you’ve made. I became what you hate. I am so close to being happy. I just have to condition myself to love every piece of me I write, draw or paint into place.
death2hatred
