Osmosing through planes of depravity.
I lose the will to look at myself in the mirror each morning, existence disgusts me.
The things I've endured could bring a grown man to his knees.
A girl who will never become a woman, who will never understand "love" or purity or anything of the sort.
Shit on my face and make me beautiful, lick it clean and call me dirty.
I am sick.

As I look into the eyes of the past I can't help but wonder how things would turn out if one simple detail had been changed somewhere along the line.
Truly it seems as though the worst case scenario always played itself out.
I'm sorry for what happened to you.
I'm sorry for allowing it.
I'd rather be dead.