Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Flexible
Ryan learned early on that painful equaled beautiful, and when he was fourteen and hiding in the library, Ryan stumbled across a book about yoga. The thin lady in the sleek bodysuit on the front cover caught the boy's eye and he checked the book out, flipping immediately to the middle of the book and twisting himself into all sorts of complex positions until his muscles burned with fatigue and every thought besides the yoga was driven from his mind.
It quickly became routine for the boy to do a small stretch in the morning after he woke up, saving the twists and pretzels for the evening. Ryan would turn off the lights in his room, lock the door, and contort into graceful shapes before the mirror, glancing at his reflection in the dark. I'm pretty, he thought as his muscles stretched and seared.
Two years before he discovered yoga, Ryan's father gave him a guitar for Christmas, and the boy would hook it up to his headphones and play of all his favorite songs until the calluses on his fingers cracked and bled and it still wasn't loud enough to drown out the voices in his head.
One year before he found that book, Ryan brought a plastic knife home from the school cafeteria and locked himself in his room, sawing and scratching at his abdomen as he lay in bed, never daring to break the fragile skin. I'm dirty, he thought as dug in deep with the notched blade.
And one month beforehand, Ryan took a detour to the small drugstore on his way home from school and bought a women's razor, a delicate specimen of silver-tipped beauty. Locking himself in his room, he twisted to one side, carefully drawing a dark crimson line across his lower back. I'm ugly, he thought as he watched the blood drip from his pale skin with morbid fascination.
But all that changed when Ryan ran away from home in the pouring rain and ended up in the public library. It was perhaps the first time he felt excited about going back home, with that book tucked under his arm, and that night Ryan could feel the filaments of his muscles ripping and tearing as he coiled himself into a perfect swan dive. I'm beautiful, he thought and smiled at his reflection.
It quickly became routine for the boy to do a small stretch in the morning after he woke up, saving the twists and pretzels for the evening. Ryan would turn off the lights in his room, lock the door, and contort into graceful shapes before the mirror, glancing at his reflection in the dark. I'm pretty, he thought as his muscles stretched and seared.
Two years before he discovered yoga, Ryan's father gave him a guitar for Christmas, and the boy would hook it up to his headphones and play of all his favorite songs until the calluses on his fingers cracked and bled and it still wasn't loud enough to drown out the voices in his head.
One year before he found that book, Ryan brought a plastic knife home from the school cafeteria and locked himself in his room, sawing and scratching at his abdomen as he lay in bed, never daring to break the fragile skin. I'm dirty, he thought as dug in deep with the notched blade.
And one month beforehand, Ryan took a detour to the small drugstore on his way home from school and bought a women's razor, a delicate specimen of silver-tipped beauty. Locking himself in his room, he twisted to one side, carefully drawing a dark crimson line across his lower back. I'm ugly, he thought as he watched the blood drip from his pale skin with morbid fascination.
But all that changed when Ryan ran away from home in the pouring rain and ended up in the public library. It was perhaps the first time he felt excited about going back home, with that book tucked under his arm, and that night Ryan could feel the filaments of his muscles ripping and tearing as he coiled himself into a perfect swan dive. I'm beautiful, he thought and smiled at his reflection.
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