Starving for a high, a place to hang out inside my own head. Starving for touch. Pain, even. A way to feel. I need to feel.

Hurt. Enough to want to make someone else hurt too.

Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.

There is one pain I often feel, which you will never know. It is caused by the absence of you.

I get 180 pain pills a month.

I was starving, my stomach was touching my back. I'll feel a lot happier when I'll be out of here.