Last night I came across an old journal and some old poetry I had written back in the early 90's. Yeah, POETRY. It was like reading things written by a total stranger. I remember having this poetry book that was SUPER old...like from the 1800's old that I had found in this old historical house owned by my best friend's family. None of the shit in the book made a lick of sense to me, but I can remember sittin' on my bed writing and a particular line from a certain poem would come to mind so I would add it to what I was writing. So even though a line or two was sometimes from someone else's fucked up mind, it's as though everything I had written came from the brain of someone entirely different. I was crazy volatile.....an angsty teenager that was very angry one minute and then all glitter, unicorns and rainbows the next. I used words that I don't even know the freakin' meaning of now. I had a passion that's unrecognizable. It's like the perso...