I feel bad for finding my scars pretty. I know they’re so ugly to everyone else, but I guess I’m trying to love my body more or some shit. Anyone know what I mean?
All your revolutionary ideals fade away as you see the noose. All you know is that you're weak and scared, and you don't want to die. You try to apologize for your defiance moments ago. Beg for another chance. But the gag stops you. Then the bag traps
