Surely if I had an ideal existence, I would not need these drugs that keep me alive.  I would not need the drugs that keep me from jumping out of my third story window.

Three stories.  Would I die?  Would I lie there, broken, head bashed in, but still able to think?

If I, in me, had all that the characters of the Wizard of Oz were seeking but had all along, would I be human enough to lift myself from the goo that keeps me stuck in this dank and awful place?

My heart stinks of rot and yet it feels.

My soul has holes that account for roughly forty percent of its entirety and yet there is still some of it left.

I want to be cleansed, purged, of all of the bad.  The things of my past that make me think of regret.  I want a chance to show the world of the brilliance that lives within me.  The brilliance that, may I add, blinds even me at times.

I hope to clear the cob-webs cluttering all of the corners of the creation that is me so that I may reach in and pull out the words to make you all cry.

All I have ever wanted was to make someone feel.  Ugly covered in syrup, with someone there to pick up the two and separate the ugly.  

Everything is better with something sweet.