I wonder who I would have been without this.

Would I still be artistic, where my mind and hand come together as one? Would I see the world, so bright and beautiful, illuminate with color? Would I still feel so deeply, and love the same?

These parts, the ones that fill the empty cracks, are where my happiest moments reside. 

Sick with tormented agony, I created. I painted without eyes or thoughts, I placed the pain onto paper and drained it from my rotting brain. Perhaps not for long, but releasing the pressure from an infectious wound is necessary for survival. There was a part of me that was alive and screaming, and she was scratching at the surface searching for a way out. Panicked, I cut open my chest to free her, but she stayed there, screaming at nothing. 

I stare at the sky and watch the orange drip to blue, and I feel like I can breathe. I’m here, I exist. I feel it all, all at once. The world becomes a feather, and I float above the clouds. I float higher and higher until my fingertips touch the moon, lost in the weightlessness. Suddenly I start to choke, the air escaping my lungs as I fall back down. Crashing, burning, exploding into dust that disappears into the wind. So quickly, I am gone. The pieces of me that survived the fall slowly come together again, and then I am here. I exist.