Self-Description

Its as if I have no real control over myself. I feel primal and savage with every waking moment. An animal is what I am. The urges are incredible. The adrenaline is overwhelming. I feel insane. Giving in to all of this seems to be the inevitable path. My hair is long and unruly, like a desperate beast. My face is un kept and un-shaven clearly showing I have no interest in appearances. Dark circles have formed under my eyes, evidence to my lack of sleep. My lips are chapped to the point of blood and the gaunt form of my body magnifies its already unsightly effects. The left ear that has recently been pierced, is oozing with what seems to be a delicate mixture of blood and puss. What could be called my beard is more of a disgusting nest of brown and grey hairs.
Why am I doing this?
Sympathy maybe. Maybe I am trying to show myself how much of a wreak I am, so that I can effectively change myself. Maybe I am doing it because I like this monster I have become. You know I have been described as a psychotic lunatic.
My chest is shallow yet defined. What muscle I have is clearly showing itself. As if desperately trying to display the strength that it desires. My arms weed out of my torso like angry little branches. Though there is very little muscle visible in these branches, they pulse and resonate what strength they have. They are truly hatful little creatures that mock me at every turn. The coarse little hairs that cover my torso imply a slightly masculine nature, they hint at my desires to be a strong man. My back being, the muscle that has kept me up for so long is now bent and broken. An overused reliance, a tired old dog. It is bent and broken, yet refuses to let me down, sacrificing more than it can give at most times.
Maybe I am doing this for comfort, or to impress those around me. I don’t think that’s it. I think I want to write. I want to overcome everything, to defeat all of my problems and doubts. I want nothing more that to be happy. I think that’s why I am doing this. I must win this fight. I must beat everyone, and overcome myself. This anger, this animal must be overcome.
My cold blue eyes, are clearly active despite my tired persona. They flare with anger, passion and desire. I want to take. I want what I deserve. No one can stand in my way. The flare of my life is in these eyes. I am what I make myself. I long to be a virtuous soul, not a vengeful hate fueled animal. I must work myself out of the frenzy of my life.
My legs are clearly defined muscles, the one piece of me that I can still rely on. They will take me places I do not desire to be and will inspire my body to move. They will carry me forward. The muscles that hang from there bones is strong yet tangible, it is a practical strength that only the wanderer can acquire.
As a whole I am a creature, little less than a beast. I look to the future to change this, but for the time I am the savage. I will indulge in this until I can take it no more. I am wild, an untamable monster. With only a shell of virtue guiding it along. I will break. Whether this will end well or not I can’t yet tell. I only know for certain that I am a train wreak, a unpleasant skeleton of who I used to be. A rage filled Zombie. A walking Hate Machine. An animal.