And if it weren't enough that i feel guilty for every mouthful, of even air or thought, i have the added remorse for making my mother worry about the continued absence of my smile. I wrap myself in metaphors and cryptic analogies because its so simple its too close for comfort. I wish i could just spell it out. Scream. SCREAM!
What i don't want to talk about is what makes the best prose and what i do is the best substitute for sleeping pills. Might as well keep my mouth shut. Everything hits at once. I'm hurting. Where's the emergency stop button?

- Turpentine, Brandi Carlisle