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I am Xiporah's fitting image of self mockery.

I am the angst ridden alter ego bred and fed though her high school years. I am the teenager that lit about 20 candles in her room, turned on the christmas lights that adorned the ceiling and walls and listened to "Christian Woman" or "Cryptorchid" on repeat while wondering why no one liked me while I gazed at my walls, plastered with Marilyn Manson pictures.

I am the teenager that dragged razorblades across her skin because she liked the look of the scratches and the 10 second interval for the blood to bead up in the widest openings of the paper thin skin slice.

I am Xiporah's youth.

Or...at least what she wanted people to see, so give me my black lipstick and my ripped fishnets, and perhaps a precious porcelin baby doll dressed in pink to carry around for contrast.

Do whatever. I'm too apathetic to care.

[/sigh]

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"Loving you was like loving the dead."