people deem you beautiful, and in the end; all that beauty dies and rots. in the end, we are all a skinny, full-of-bone corpse laying six feet under with nobody caring or thinking of us. that beauty you once had left you mid-life, when you undid your innocence or when you shot your childhood away with the words 'i wish i was older'. the beauty that lives is of envy, your craving for the before-life and your desire not to enter the after. in the end we are all going to die, going to bleed, and together in hell us abandoned lonely souls will sing in chorus as we hold our blades up and let them shine in the blaze. together, our beauty will not be restored, but each will see new beauty in our ugly, and the word 'ugly' will vanish into the dusty air, like it was never even there at all.