When something becomes rotten, you throw it away.
Be it food, or flesh.
My spiral into degeneracy began at adolescence.
Pure snow; dirtied before it could
complete it's descent onto the Earth.

But I can't get rid of myself. I simply don't want to.
I want to live.
For the first time in a while, I don't feel sorrow.
Just a stubborn will to fight and survive.
That means I have to stop my plummet into chaos.