Rantings, Vol. II. To all the V's out there.
I hate existing. Is it not enough that I despise myself? Must they remind me of my past selves and the requiem they hold for me? I want to peel myself away from every memory I’ve ever haunted. Every encounter splits me into another grotesque fragment of myself—fractured, misunderstood, and vulnerable to perceptions and perversions I do not consent to. I wish to kill all those versions of me violently with my bare hands—rip them from the minds of others. They do not deserve any phantom version of me. Every encounter is a reminder that I am never whole. Everyone takes a piece of me, cast and frozen in the twisted ballrooms of their minds. I am held prisoner. I am rotting in their minds—I feel the rot, and I cannot recognize myself, nor do I want to. I do not want to be perceived. I do not want to be remembered. Erase me. Erase her. Erase them all. I want annihilation. To exist only where I cannot be seen.
