I wish there were words or pictures or sounds that could convey how I feel inside but no matter how much I try or how many nights I waste with pen in hand and paper not far I end in a teary eyed fury because the creativity that leaks from the outside world into my skin seethes within my bloodstream and blankets my being and it gets stuck and no matter how much I write or draw it just seems to multiply and I sicken with sadness unable to share what I have within me. So I smoke and pop pills and somehow it releases this creative pressure or seems to display it in my feelings and I am alive again.