Dear Diary,

Today I woke up not depressed or oppressed simply just in a presence of somber thoughts. I did my daily routine thanked God for breathe and another day and asked my daily question. “What is my purpose!”

Please take pity on me as I’ve somehow managed to ride the wave of 27 years and feel utterly lost. Is this exactly what I should feel? Numb downtrodden, undoubtedly empty, but endlessly realistic while vaguely optimistic.

Do my words touch souls, fulfill roles, or slowly drop ink onto pages like erratic raindrops amongst the window pane. Fuck helping others, I need to help myself, free my own demons and let the bastards roam free.

Sex and alcohol find comfort atop my lips, the precipice of my dick shattering the depth of her hips. Am I unholy or vile for viewing life in a series of ins and outs and moans and pants. I ask for forgiveness and embark to sin once more, is this something I enjoy in the form of Stockholm, it holds me hostage.

Today I feel somber and yet a level of appreciation and gratitude, I send out love in the same thread I sent out explicit joys. Funny how it all flips one day we just friends and the next we having deep conversation which ends with my mouth on your tits, tongue on your clit, breathes down your spine and one candle stays lit.

That was simply my imagination running wild, somehow you fit the description. Yes you not the vixen who is dolled and animated, no you with the stretch marks and areas you feel are unworthy to see the light of day. The very dark spaces which let me know you are real in this artificial social scene. Those marks and blemishes which can’t be angled away. The very shape that can’t be hidden once unwrapped from a long day.

Back to reality, I’m chasing masculinity but not the kind they say is toxic but the BIG DICK ENERGY, which gravitates around me like an everlasting aura. Is it money, is it cars, charisma, or my fashion. My confidence hanging on the thin veil of external value and constantly conflicted with internal morals. My real world seems to be a never-ending strife so no wonder I jump back into my imagination, for in it I make all the rules. Yet the reality is a hard pill to swallow. I swore I took the red pill but maybe my reality has left me color blind. I’ll try again tomorrow.

”What is My Purpose”

Today Sounded Like….