“Some people are not used to normal.
They are used to slamming doors, flashing lights, sterile hospital rooms, sore throats, smoke swirling in lungs, fingernails bitten to the root, firewater churning in stomach, ink mixed with blood, splinters on the fingertips, redden eyes, morning panic attacks, ashes clinging to the skin.
Loving broken people. Broken things.
Burning for each and everything.
Thriving on poison.
Some people are used to disaster.”
-things an artist told me//