Why do I get high: is it to feel.. to have the butterflies mad in my belly, my heart racing wild, my blood seething; or is to feel numb, to ice the burning, the broken, to be impervious again, before the battle wore you thin. I ask myself.. do I want to feel? To marvel at the strength at my weakening bones, still standing so far, still so young, already weary. Or would I rather be blind, disconnect my head from my body, live hard, die young, feel nothing. Lately, everything's a battle in my head. Good and evil right and wrong to do or not to do to love or not to love : WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Definitions are so flexible these day, reality is a dream we can't wake up from. But we keep going, keep swimming, always aware that if we wanted to drown, we could. So easily. But we want to fight, to try to make things different. Because if no one fights, nothing will ever change. So we fight, for now, me and the butterflies.