I AM IN PERFECT FORM

I don't trust anyone. I'm protecting myself. I hate you creeps.

I know I’m better than anyone I’ve seen or met, anyone I’ve ever worked for or with, anyone that’s ever seen my face. When I’m exposed, I’m hiding something. I’m holding it in. I’m hiding because I’m better than you are. I’m transfixed. I’m staring at my naked body in the mirror. I’ve shaped myself in accordance to what I want to see. Slabs of fat cut away, my hand meeting thumb to point when I cup a thigh. Stomach vacuumed taut. I’ve put myself under the knife for it. I’ve bled for this body. I control it, use it for my own gratification. It provides me with a perfect life: self-inclusive, contained, rigid, unrelenting, punishing. It’s mine. I’m perfect for myself. The smell of my sweat, the feel of my muscles tightening, satisfies me, fucks me. I’m perfect. I fuck myself. My image in the mirror is fucking me. I turn myself on. Everything else is superfluous. I’m self-contained. I’ll eliminate anything, any beast, any ugly living being that gets in my way. When I look in the mirror, I make time stop. I need nothing, no one. Nothing can fuck me like I fuck myself. No regrets. I’ve worked myself into what I want to fuck. I’m fucking myself now. I am in perfect form.
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