murderotiqua

Portland is a beautiful place, mainly because of how dangerous it is to the human psyche. I sit here alone in my room updating my only contact with the outside world, for whomever to stumble upon at any given time in this so-called life. I'm sexually deprived and at a creative still. I was nominated for a publication in another book, and they set aside two pages just for me. Two pages, so much for someone as minuscule as me, yet so little to open up my mind and express everything that remains a mystery to all those who wish to learn. I need some inspiration right now. I need something. But I don't know what that something is anymore.