Lying is a disease and it slowly consumes you until you are no longer you; you are just a lie. There's nothing to display to you, I am just a lonely procrastiner; not a liar, I have become, like everyone else, what I do best (or is that worst?). These dialogues within yourself... it gets to the point when you have to ask yourself whether or not you like something and make a decision saying just that. Updating with the times to seem perfect when even they know you're flawed. And not just flawed, destroyed, only your spirit remains, desperately grabbing for that final note. I am tired of lying but I don't know how to stop. I once thought I'd be a great actress since my entire life is composed of performances, playing parts to win your approval, straight to the bank. Ironically, my reasons for acting are the same reasons that prevent me from being good at it. My arms, my face, my stomach. I'm tired. I'm tired of counting and calculating and ignoring my neat mathematics as I take that second bite. Why was I plagued with this shallowness that seems impossible to change? I never meant to be like this. I often wonder if I am who I am, it's not a nice thought: evolution.