Maybe I’m just hormonal, an easy way to say I’m screwed up. I got 99 problems, but ill start from number one. I wanna find love. Not ordinary “love” it’s thrown around to much.

I’m talking about compassion with a passion, the love in movies and stories that inspire childhoods. The I care about you before my own selfish ambitions, because when I’m in love her being will expel the angel hidden within me, she’ll exorcise my demons, and for that I will say “I Love You.”

My naive ideas of love, probably don’t exist in this world. Call me a romantic.

The love I’m talking about is a mistress, nay a goddess whose mere presence dethrones tyrants, welds the cold metal of two broken hearts. She is Mary Jane, that’ll heal my pain but, she’s flighty because that’s her nature. Such a presence leaves marks, stains, and bruises. Marking me as one of the forsworn doomed to looking for you in ever girl, ill see after you.

Yet I’ve lived life unscathed by any of this, my virgin shirt still as white as the day I expelled from the canal. Maybe I’m crazy.

Maybe I’m damaged goods.

That’s more likely, anxiety, clinically depressed, and many other psychological defects that would define my character. But still I can’t help feeling alienated, from human beings most natural feelings, my emotional tunnels clogged with drugs, hate, and supernatural realism.

I’m fucked up. But I know I’m not alone, I can’t be the only one who feels like the media-sold common day use of love doesn’t apply to me. That love is something invented and if its real, it just haven’t found me yet.

Well here’s to hoping, Here’s to the human experience.