Work Text:
How could one feel worthy of creating when the very same person was never worthy of being created, themself?
It was a thought that floated in every once in a moon, settling in the back of a mind before creeping its way out the same familiar path it takes every month.
It pulls and prods at center focus, but never in direct light. At the edges, from afar... it had its ways of filling all attention of whomever it claims.
It filth. Isn't it?
Your very existence.
Never worthy, despite the haughty leverage forever ago self imposed.
You reek of vile and ill.
Putrid and raw.
You’re disgusting, and you know it.
Yet...
You choose to cover it up in this image you have created for yourself, of yourself.
The same image you were unworthy to have created.
You may rot in the depths of all the grime around you.
Unworthy,
And never will be.
A tragedy you have crafted up of yourself
Garnering false pretenses of sympathy and grief.
Mourn the loss of none.
It was never going to be, never will.
Your putrid image crawls its way into the cave of my heart,
Grabbing at the threads of filth and vile.
Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.
How dare you anything but rot?
You are undeserving.
You, the image of myself dreamt once upon a time.
You are no longer true.
It begs a question, though.
Were you ever?
You reek of lies and pleasure.
Gnawing your way into view of anyone around.
Living to please, but for who?
Them?
You?
You are disgusting.
It was always going to be, always will.