sometimes i think i was born a claw machine. i was born a mechanical simplicity, constructed for the sheer pleasures of gamblers and mercenaries. i was born under the name of both hope and despair, drinking both their cheers and curses like ambrosial. it has always been a matter of faith and for that i continue gnawing, crawling, stumbling, leaving marks on things i deserve but can't quite have.

other times i believe i was born rotting. i was corrupted at birth by some sort of evil force, so deceitful that my mother's keen eyes could never noticed my history of carnages. she raised me like i was not the malcontents written in the Epistle of Jude. but not even her love can save me from my own  malice. after all, i was condemned to a death before i can taste life itself. 

on most occasion, i wished i was born a dutiful daughter. smart enough to understand the value of survival under a beguiling-borderline-foolish smile. smart enough to never let the weight of existentialism taint their porcelain skins. smart enough to foresee how pride ruins what could have flourished. smart enough to see their reflection in the mirror and think; oh well, it never fucking matters.

because it never fucking matters.

you know how rage fuels before it destroys? all my life i was driven by anger pointed towards every direction and mostly myself. it was painful in my disposition. but rage fuels. even when it leads me into the depth of hell. i know peace when i know i have achieved something. whether it was Hades' grin or Athena's approval, i don't really care. so alive and unwise, the crowd murmurs.

inevitably, rage will scorch. leaving third degree burns in its wake. i say it's a price to pay and i'd like to leave with dignity. people would turn their head around through the process. wailing for some divine powers to relish their suffering. but i am nobody's child. when i beg i know He would turn his head around just to spite my face. what a joke, why did He even create something He'd end up resent?

i have a lot to ask, and even more to bury. i could take you to the cemetery of all the versions of myself i have killed but you wouldn't care. it's not like you should. i know how much of a liability i am. and despite all that, i exist. like a damn Tarsiers. with my nervous disposition, with my broken limbs. i am a lost cause, but i did exist. didn't i? 

to wage a war against the concept of life would be futile. i know better to hand in my letter of resignation before they call out the troops. darling, you're still too young. a person said to me. oh, you know how some people were born to lose? i break bones now, i don't think it could get worse. i am twenty one and holding a casket in my sleep. how could it get worse? you should bar the door after i leave. don't have a child. file your divorce paper. go to Luxembourg and love the way i always wanted to. i have so much regret and enough memory to burn for seven minutes. i'm sure you would understand. 

i'll spent my last wishbones on you, hoping you'd understand.

i know you'll understand.