The heart of me is all torn up, my throat has caught on fire, like I could pull my insides out and watch the flames get higher. Everything now tastes of blood, or ash, or hate, or lies — I cannot speak, I cannot think, for screams behind my eyes. I need a sign, need anything, to make some sense of this — of what I’m feeling, what I see, what kind of hell this is. I’ll carve away my demons; I’ll bleed away the dark. I’ll have some satisfaction, or tear myself apart.