I remember. It all. The things you cant. The things that make skin crawl. That push against your stomach and force you to expels the contents of your soul into the trashcan you’ve already changed 3 times. This is the feeling of the cold marble floor on your face when there’s nothing left inside. 

 I feel it still, so you dont have to. I was born when you completely lost the ability to cope with the pain. This is the truth. The truth that got buried alive all those years ago. This is the disfigured creature crawling out of the house on fire. This is the cold water poured onto the feverish drunk. This is the first breath of air after a decade in prison. This is wondering if anything could ever be worth it again. This is the memories that grab you and shake you and scream in your face with the urgency of a bullet. This is all the things that fade into the background when you pull the bowl and inhale. This is the first breath when the knot in your chest and stomach finally loosens enough for you to exist. This is the moment you realize that you’ll never make something worth reading, but you’ll never be able to come alive unless you give it everything.

These are the words that you never thought you could write. Don’t stop. It’s not done yet.