This… Well, what's it to say about it? Finally I feel empty. (Atleast a bit)

Meaning I won't be able to write so much, for quite some time…

I just want to hide in a dark fucking corner and cry away this fucking annoying pain.
Gawd.

…Ah right!

Happy fucking Christmas and to all a bloody good New Year!!!

I love you, dear fans, although this is a temporarly goodbye, I'll be back, up and standing, real soon… Or... I won't, only time can tell.
But I want to thank you for all the continued support you keep providing, without it I wouldn't be the writer I am today.

Thank you.

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The Body Is An Open Canvas

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He'd smoked far to much, had been high on weed for three days.

The same thick, deep vibration of the music, making it course through his veins like warm burning acid. Feelt amazing.

Closing his eyes, seeing a dreamlandscape of clouds and pure white lights.

So this was his price? This was the price he had to pay to get a fucking VIP-card to the Heavens? Headaches, sickness to the stomach, depression after the high of beeing super happy?

Not worth it, not really.

But as he heard every little thing, as the music, that same song he'd heard over and over again, sounded so much better, and as his limbs shook right after moving them, as every little thing seemed funny, as his spit vibrated when he swallowed, when it felt as if he were pulled down into a unknown void… He wondered, was this really that bad?

Here he could escape.

From the real world.

…But was that really the entire truth? Every damn side of it? Fuck, he didn't know.

And he was afraid he'd never know.

He thought about the meaning of life.

Was it to be happy?

To have the 'all-perfect' family? The most attractive boy or girlfriend?

The best sexlife? The biggest cock? The nicest tits?

Should you be extremely hairy or lack bodyhair all together?

Should you have a firm ass or wellshaped abs?

So many fucking questions, he wondered:

Would he survive this? This hurricane of his life…

The black, downward spiral. The drug-addicted, cutting-obsessed and self-hating spiral.

There it was again. The need to self-destruct. Why had he started cutting himself?

To know how it felt. Cold, hard stainless steel against pale skin, opening up little blood-filed graves that would take a hell of a long time to heal… And itch, all and all, be annoying, but… would grant him such relief at times.

He know uses it to feel empty. To start of from a flat area, a desert lacking the sand. Like sorting unwhished materials from someones harddrive.

…But does it really work? Is it giving him the same result every time?

Fuck no. But how he wishes it to.

As he now, more often says:

The body is an open canvas. It gives you the opportunity to make a mark on it. A mark of your choice. Will it be by your own will, or will it not, nothing of this matters – Because when the carving starts, you will be lost in your self. What you desire, is right around that dark corner. Cut your path until you arrive to that specific corner… And when you are there you will find Nothing…

Nothing. Is it worth it?

Some may say Yes, some No.

But what we all agree on it this.

To fight for happiness, that is what life is all about. Some of us get stuck along the way, caught in a spiral of darkness. And we fight, we fight… Struggle to near insanity…

…But we will never reach or goal of true happiness…

Never. (But we try, we try…) It's hard. Let's admit this. Life. Is. A. Fucking. Shithole.

… Why does so many feel that they have not got the energy left to fight anymore…?

Why? Why, damnit