Or let my ashes scatter in the wind?
I wish I could grow flowers on my skin
But I can only paint them
And dream the needle carves petals on my soul.
There is nothing beautiful in this world
That we cannot destroy.
There is no pain
That ever truly ends.
I can be both.
Should I choose to be something?
And kill all else I could be?
I am already everything.
In everything I am nothing.
Chaos shapes me
But I claim myself
I make myself mine.
Does it hurt?
Doesn't everything?
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