There is nothing inside of me that wants to scream.
I feel as if art school has silenced me.
Dried out this babytowner.
I hope that with the warmth comes something inside of me that wants to do more than drink.
But to make art again.
I feel as if I’ve become this normal pile of a woman drowned in booze.
I get so boring when I’m not troubled.
But I have worked so hard to solve myself.