I refuse to become that girl. I refuse to look like her. I refuse to sound like her. I refuse to have any form of connotation to her.
It’s not me. It has never been me. It can never be me.
I refuse to conform into this all-consuming world when all I want to do is push against the walls that surround me. I refuse to let my morals loose and fall into the world where I fell into so long ago. I don’t want to change my ways. I don’t want to let go.
But swimming against a current is much too tiring; pushing through a crowd is far too exhausting; keeping my head above water is near enough impossible.
They say sin is sweet, and that it is, yet this is so ostensible: the sweet nectar from the world’s pleasures congeal and coagulate in the body, forming thick tar and resin in the bloodstream. The darkness overpowers, and soon there is nothing left but a shattered core: all that is left is an empty shell of a person running dry.
Don’t let me succumb. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me submit.
I don’t want to go back there again.