[image Id: A Four-page Comic. It Is Titled “do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep” After The Poem By

it’s sad that something as beautiful as plastic surgery is being commercialized and commodified like this….

today i’m fifteen

bruises on my hands

scabs split open

body shot to hell

today i’m angry at the world

and i don’t understand why

the world doesn’t take offense

today i’m burning rubber

in old parts of town i swore never to return

today i can’t seem to get lost

these winding roads are too familiar

and every turn brings me back to fifteen

bruises on my legs

fresh scabs from last night

eyes shot to hell

funny how yesterday i was twenty

adolescence fleeing my skin

tattoos scabbing over

innocence shot to hell

yesterday i locked eyes with you

yesterday i burnt rubber in the parking deck

yesterday i couldn’t get lost fast enough

today i’m fifteen

bruises still fresh

scabs yet to form

five years shot to hell

I sit here in my barrel

The world spins on and on

Put the wood atop me

As I try to hold on

As it shakes and spins, and batters me so

Put the lid atop me, so none of it can show

Hide me in the hole at night

So I can no longer see

The world that spins around me

As I try to fall asleep

I wish the storm would get me

And ceise it's fierce goodbye

For as it tatters onwards

My flag can no longer fly

this is a poem

a comic about OCD

As someone who does like to 'live small', this is really interesting to think about. It'll take some reflection to figure out to what extent I agree with this, but it's a very well-crafted argument that doesn't attack anyone. I appreciate that. Thought I'd share.

"Don’t court Loneliness", Tathev Simonyan

"There's no hope for the future." And that's how they felt during the Atomic Age, during the World Wars, during the Enlightenment Revolutions, during thr plagues, during the Viking raids, during the fall of Rome.

Yet, we persisted.