Within is the laundry list of a poor unfortunate soul, a hungry flirtatious sweet tooth.She is Icarus without Apollo.Reborn from ashes hoping to turn the residual melancholy into a spectacle.She writes of heartache and loneliness, joy, and comfort, how art shapes her world.She writes with a burning, writhing need to understand her humanity.She writes about everyone she’s ever met, and the people she never will.Within is a love letter to herself, and to all the ones who can’t use their words.Within is a promise to keep loving all the beautiful, disgusting, amazing, horrendous parts of herself.She writes alone in the a.m, hoping her words scream loud enough before her coffee goes cold.