It all pours out of me. All from
my mind to my hand, to my
fingers, to this pencil, into
the pages of the damn
fucking book.
For the first time I
can't feel release in my
writing, why not? This
is driving me insane. I can't
take it. The desperation, the
doubt, the loneliness, the
hurt and being afraid it's
all growing into a humungus
growth and GOD DAMNIT
it isn't working. This
always works. Why not now?
Oh help me. I feel alone.
