I wonder. If I will feel the end. Coming or when it hits...
I feel that I will. One usually does. Why would it be different?
That’s too deep, one says... alternatively, that response is too shalllow. But chatstract me from the moment, for the moment. We both know my daring extremes are not your style. I’m too closely shorn to fit into your ideals...
I suppose that was part of the point of it. How do you like me now motherfucker?... a line that is spoken in my mind, accompanied by a wry smirk, meant for no one in particular, but for everyone who may glance this way... but not really...because, why?...actually...
I started this metamorphosis with blurred intent. I didn’t even realize it was happening until here I was... simultaneously empowering and marginalizing. So now, what’s really shocking anymore? And why the fuck am I spending time thinking about it. I don’t know, definitively, how I feel about this move. It’s interesting the importance we put on follicles producing out our skulls... get rid of em. See how it feels... so mote it be. I’m still not sure.
