Sitting in the dark.

Dreams vivd.

If only they were from the milk drank or the cheese eaten.

Much, much deeper in the soul, it leeches.

Somehing of a scratch it was.

Swallowed down years back, the regrettful taste is coughed up.

Chest that is still there and the unwanted bits that were unfourtunately spared.

"Cut them off" it whispers.

Will do in time, Sir.

Expenses must be paid.

Landlord of the Hell we call Earth.

Being what it looks likde should not be hard.

And yet if a bird quacks it must be a duck.

But if a bird chirps it could be a robin or a blue bird.

Why do they choose but not our own.

Not cosmetic, but a need.

Need to be comfortable in the wrong body.

Need to love thyself.

Need for you to love back.