I’m a confess some shit I wouldn’t if I weren’t drunk enough… Not that I’m suicidal, that’d be obvious enough for even those who know me – a friend of mine once had a dream that I’d commit suicide when he had no idea I, then, recently tried to. I have issues. So so many issues. But that’s the modern psychological narrative. I accept me for who I am, doesn’t mean the rest of the world does;I have friends… lots of em, not that anyone knows the full story. Except there’s not much of a story… I feel like death’s personal project to disassemble a human. I’m drunk, tho my thoughts seem more or less clear and old, oh so old. Look at my punctuation, I’m not that drunk. I’m a virgin at an age I’m not supposed to be… According to the mass media universe anyway. I don’t want to care that I’m virgin, but I haven’t masturbated for days…a new recent personal record. Having bad thoughts revolving around sex. Don’t want to, but my conscious self is… Wanna die. Two pegs down, getting drunker. So many missed opportunities. Not just sex. Self sabotage. Not that far fetched. Drama. My recent goal has been no drama, failing oh so miserably. Not sure if phone keyboard acting up or I’m drunker.i don’t thin I am. Death in my head is associated with peace. I understand life is only chance to “do”, but universe seems to conspire against me, what guarantees that I’m not mental. So cold. Wearing shorts feeling cold don’t wanna change. I understand that I don’t understand shit but media tells me otherwise. There’s a sea next to me, if you don’t hear back, assume the worst. Not that anyone would care about the incoherent ramblings of the Virgin loser.