little mister in flowers and bars.

little mister in flowers.

shame is always right under the surface, i grass it over with distraction and whims and such but then somebody scratches the ground and it gets exposed again. i do it to myself i guess, a simple thing like a flower frame, i know it's dumb. now all my pictures have these flower frames stuck on and they're stupid and i'm stupid for liking them and doing them to death and beyond. beyond? nah. i can't help myself, i plead. my worries are absurd, but i can't get my head up, it seems sometimes it's all kitsch and personal devices.
there's so much real intense stuff going on but i can't think about that. 
the head objects were the same. but i got past that. i just kept doing it. i told sarah the main thing is doing it, even doing it to death, but is that even true of shame, or just another device like any other vice? shame is undead at any rate.