Disorder

I have a meta-physical disorder that only love ones prevail to give, beauty. You can say you are beautiful to low self esteem. You can say you are terrific to low confidence. You can give a compliment to be of hate. All file in a folder of depression kind words mend & twist what we call depression. Depression can be formed by kind words. Are we in a never ending psychological battle? Are we really telling our reflection the truth? It rolls around the depths of mind looking for an opening of salvation, but the salvation picks what it wants and never what it needs. Is it called salvation? Salvation was the name I that mistaken long ago for divine belief, but he stole the social security number for hope. The name is empress of social abyss. It feels off of manipulation, false modesty, and lies. So, the battle off words falls as a disorder. Feed me words and the definition shall change. Feed me light and a path will lie before you. Beauty? Body language walks hand and hand as the disorder works with the empress. Oh how we can tell ourselves the truth as we cover it with lies. Beauty is my meta-physical disorder. Can words or actions mend its wounds?