I am a creature of habit.

Of sadnesses that collect on my skin like scars, and happiness that burns as it goes down. I carry with me the burdens of my ego, the blood stains of my past, and trinkets of things to come. I am a mess of bijou and ennui, of sorrows that ache like a crack in bone, and musings that wash away the evidence of a harsh life.

I am haunted by acidic ghosts in my blood - mistakes I can't acknowledge or contain, geysers of anguish and regret that churn and gurgle in the subtle tones of my voice.

I hide nothing.  I hide everything.

The End

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