My music makes me want to cry. And thinking of how much i want things to move forward makes it hard to breathe.
I feel like opening up my health book and reading about lal teh millions of things that could kill me: AIDs, meningitis, pneumonia, even strep throat...
I want to see the gory pictures that make me feel naseous.
I keep thinking of the testicles blue and infected, lungs swollen and black.
I want to tell you about them, about how afriad they make me. But words can't explain the disgust.
Just like words can't explain the hurt.
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