I can only hope, that when I shed my skin, it’s metamorphosis

Flawed by design, beauty in death
Martyrdom or something
I tried to make sense of it all
When did the world end and why did no one tell me?
I kept living thinking everything was as it should be
It exists as a husk now, purely to fill a quota
To occupy a routine, to exist for the sake of taking up space
Nothing is everchanging
The world has stopped spinning
And everything has lost its meaning

Another branch in the timeline
Flawed by design, beauty in death
Martyrdom or maybe just displaced
Jaded and misunderstood
A beating heart, but still rotting

I hate my skin
I hate my body
I hate my voice
I slice deep into it and it never heals the same
If I cut off the excess fat
Maybe I'll feel less small
If I scream until I cough up blood
Maybe my words will find their meaning
Maybe if I replace enough of myself I can become a new man
Replenished

If I remove my eyes, I won't have to watch my own death
If I remove my teeth, I won't bite my tongue

How long before they take my tongue?
Or my lips?
How long before I'm reduced to nothing? Purely existing to fill a quota, to occupy a routine
To exist for the sake of taking up space? Flawed by design, beauty in death
I am no martyr and I never have been