Muse

I wrote this at about 7 in the morning without having any sleep, so forgive me if it doesn't make sense of if it's rushed in some parts.

Fat.
I stared into the mirror, frowning, and tears falling from my eyes. God, why did I have to be so fat? My hair is imperfect. My skin is worthless. My boobs are too big. I am so imperfect. I grabbed my eyeliner and applied it thickly around my eyes. Grabbing the tube, I put some skin bronzer on my revealed skin. I put the long, black extensions in my hair, and walked back to the living room, sitting in front of the TV, staring at the beautiful celebrities...

There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just the future. Hold on, strap down, extinguish your cigarettes and gasp. Gasp like suffocating puppies about to be thrown back into the live-loving water. Gasp with joy. Like razor-blade systems witch dispense their own foam, like recordable DVD units and personnel skycars (coming soon, really). Like isotonic cold capsules, Internet-accessing mobiles and the sweet, sweat dream of 1.000 genetically cloned Christina Aguilera’s.

Muse are an amazing thing turned better. Muse has moved from magic trick to miracle, from mirage to oasis, from two to three...