Picture this: you're held at all 4 corners, It means something, It's taking you apart. You got something eating at your brain, something else eating at your lungs. Consumption from within. In this story, you're the Trojan horse, a belly full of swords. This is a place of parts, of people who were cleaved into two by their own minds; does this have to be you? Is this your fate? You get lilies like you're already dead. Bones tearing out of your skin, a garden where your hurt stopped. This is a story of ruin, of your mother's voice in your ear saying it's never been enough. You're all hungry here. It's enough to break you. And then – freedom. Know that this doesn't have to be you. Know you've deserved everything and more, know you are defined as nothing & that doesn't matter. You can be happy here. The strings don't have to break you. You were not made only to hurt.