{"media_url":"https:\/\/scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com\/v\/t51.29350-15\/122434401_127934475448789_2958072760042402380_n.jpg?_nc_cat=102&ccb=2&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=N0bilWk1KfYAX_o9-Bx&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com&oh=e7283239ed079ff3ea2d4eeb4eda2214&oe=5FD6CAD1","caption":"Well, the book is gone. Its totally finnnnnnito and gone. My mind plunged, i knew it would, because what the hell am i supposed to do to keep living now? I got a line of unfinished novels, pathetic scripts and abandoned poetry; but i dont want to keep on when the first one can't even buy me a pair of broke shoes with no sole and is bigger horse shit than a heifer can spew. \n\nI still dont know the story and i cant remember a thing, but i wish i had made different choices ... that i had a finished thing i could look at gaily with pride,  but it is as it goes. The manuscript is locked away and hidden under my old saddle and there it will stay til i expire and dry out.\n\n  I thrive in poverty, and id give my shirt for free.\n Im not into a thing for money, definitely not for a name in neons either.\n Im too mean and manic for public consumption. Too honest. Too he too she and fuck around craze. \n Writing is a tactical saddle bag holding the only water i have, and i got more than the world to ride out. I want to buy my mother a pair of shoes that dont cut her up, and thats all i want my book to give me. Proof that all that trouble and pain was worth a minute. That scars may not heal but they can stop burning. \n\nWriting a book made me doubt that i should write at all.","id":"17847591839393952","media_type":"IMAGE","timestamp":"2020-10-25T21:34:14+0000","username":"bellaeflynn","permalink":"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/p\/CGyCGnjHRyJ\/"}