But I Knew One More Thing. That

As An Artist, You Can Never Get What You Want. What You Do Never Approaches What You Want It To Be.

How Vast Was A Human Being's Capacity For Suffering. The Only Thing You Could Do Was Stand In Awe Of It. It Wasn't A Question Of Survival At All. It Was The Fullness Of It, How Much Could You Hold, How Much Could You Care.

How Right That The Body Changed Over Time, Becoming A Gallery Of Scars, A Canvas Of Experience, A Testament To Life And One's Capacity To Endure It.

Without My Wounds, Who Was I? My Scars Were My Face, My Past Was My Life.

They Say Drugs Are Not The Answer, But Really, What Is The Question?