Sara

“Madness tastes like copper and salt, old fish and the rank flavor of your own tongue putrefying between your clenched teeth. It stinks like guano, wet lumber, rancid fat from a beast almost as unnatural as yourself. Sometimes—on the bad days—it smells like the memories of places and people you’ll never get back, gardens and faces you will never see again in all your long, miserable lifetime.”
― Anonymous