An Empty Form

When I go against what I want, I turn pitiful and weak; my strength atrophy’s because it’s being completely ignored. When my strengths are ignored all that exists are my weaknesses, and so I turn pitiful and helpless—unable to fight off my self-malicious attacks. I become so weak and self-helpless that I must grab at whatever I can, and so I lose myself while people carry my dead body around as to be able to go through life with meaningless motions. My leaves die and I begin to rot, yet my decrepit form remains standing as a reminder of how I failed. I become a living reminder of death. I can’t be scared to grow into a seemingly ugly and unconventional form within a forest of conventionally formed creatures. It’s better to be ugly, alive, and strong than a living embodiment of death. Pretension shows through weakness; I want my form no matter how ugly or beautiful to be true and strong. Pretension is the weakest of forms—barely better than the living dead—and in fact a farce to hide the rottenness and decay behind a deceivingly beautiful veil. Pretension lives for the emptiness and lifelessness of validation, because after all the fuel required to keep such a thin veil alive is close to nothing. Weakness lives for the laziness and lack of morality of nothingness. I want to care, to give a damn, to live as much as possible and in the best way possible.

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