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An Excerpt

I want to think about anything else. I want to think and speak about anything else. I want to feel less consumed. Less squishy pink and gray brain space and neurons devoured. Eaten up by the foaming obsessions.

I want to think about anything else.

My inner narrative is all screaming. It's a swirling, darting, overlaid shot that too pointedly tries to capture inner turmoil. It's over-done. Soundless, spinning, shots of color and a gaping mouth. Eyes tightly shut in an expression of the rawest pain, but it's not raw at all. It's over-cooked.

Trapped in a story I don't want to tell that no one wants to hear. This one shot that could be in any number of narratives. It's madness, it's drug use, it's the overwhelming mundanity of a coming of age story. It's blue hues. Sickly, cinematic blue hues. The color of an urban landscape. The color of an urban disease. A cluster of noise that formed around the mind of a girl from the fourth largest city in the coun…

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