I took an acid bath. I washed the skin from my bones and got down to the core, what really matters most. I don’t talk about this, I don’t talk about that, I just talk about fantasy, sometimes. Sometimes I wish my dreams lasted longer and I didn’t have to get up. It’s not helpful, it’s not healthy, it’s normal, at least I think. It’s hard to be strong, on the inside. I’m like a cardboard box trying to be a chair; it’s not what I’m made for. But I can begin again, I can be recycled. I’ll be given a new job, a new purpose, a new chance.