Twisted

I'm starting to think that I like the pain.
And it scares me.
Not the deliberate pain but the bruises and scrapes, I'm proud of them and I don't know why and it really really scares me.

But it makes me feel alive, so alive, because I know that I'm real and I know that I'm not invincible and I can be broken.

And as much as that thrills me, it scares me.
I am breakable, not just physically, but obviously mentally, because I am broken already there.
That doesn't hurt, it doesn't scare me.
But I'm proud of my scars because as much as it means I can be broken it means I can survive a whole lot, and it means I am strong.

Strong, stronger than I could ever feel.
The pain is just temporary and the accidental scars are forever and they show my journies through life.
I've been close to hell and I've touched deliberacy and I like it better when things are accidental.
Because as much as I can't control it when it's accidental, it means that I'm not that twisted after all.

I enjoy it, but not enough to take it in my hands and create it.

I am

breakable,
breaking,
broken.

I am twistable,
twisting,
twisted.

And I

really

do

enjoy

(really

enjoy)

every

every

single

minute.