February 3rd, Year 22

8:47pm. I am alone. Unloved. Skin toughened and pale. Untouched by men that I fear and adore. Rejected by women who find me intimidating.

I want to scream out my prayers, which have proven useless.

Though my habits are old, they are not weak.
Though I am broken, my determination is not.

I want to turn my back on a God, who has done nothing but make a mockery out of my life.

I am tied to old structures, like a rabid dog. And it is hot. And the binding is cutting into my skin.

The wheels turn, but they do not break.

February 3rd, Year 22

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