(Morbid. Read with caution)

I woke up in someone else’s body today.

She didn’t look like me at all.

Maybe her voice was a bit familiar, but it was drowned out by the sight of her bagged eyes and mangled lips that contorted into a frown of agony.

Her arms were bony and hideous.

I couldn’t stand the sight of her.

It was as if I couldn’t control her actions despite feeling the numbness of her own skin. I watched in the 3rd perspective as she committed atrocities i would never dare imagine myself doing.

But she isn’t me, so I didn’t care all that much as she stabbed everyone who loves her in the back.

I didn’t care that much when she cried herself to sleep.

I didn’t care that much when she added another tally to her skin like it were marking each day she burned alive on earth. Her hideous skin.

I didn’t care that much when she lusted after her friends, imagining morbid scenarios that made my stomach churn.

I didn’t care that much because she isn’t me, and I would soon return to my own body.

But one day, I woke up back in my own skin. I faced the mirror to see my grotesque limbs and other parts, littered with those scars I had seen the girl commit. Burdened by the mistakes my host had made in the time I embodied her. And I realized I had spent too long waiting to return in a fit of insanity to realize I’m the girl whom I didn’t recognize; the girl I hate; I just didn’t want to own up to my own faults. My many, many faults. But now I would. I would own up to them in the only way I knew how to.

I grabbed the tool that had scored my body every day I’ve lived before. I wanted to mark today just I had all the rest. But this would be the last time I marked. It would be my last day. I reserved the special occasion for my neck.