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I needed a bed to tuck the monsters underneath. I found myselfexpelling every crippling thing onto paper, like I was feeding mysoul with ink. That’s why I started writing. I guess I could havelearned how to fold paper cranes, or attended another seminaron how to stop using thumbtacks to control my anger, but Idigress. Do you know what it’s like to feel so unclean that youtry all the wrong things to get a smidge closer to “purity”? If youdo, then you can connect to the poems and prose that you’reabout to read. This book is my distillery. Was my distillery? It is,and was, and always will be. It’s my everything and nothing.Oh, along my journey I also wrote some positive pieces andplaced them in here, for there is always a silver lining.
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