It irritates me when people ask me “what do you do?”, “what are your interests in life?” Fuck, dude I have no idea. I cannot explain. I’m not sure I’m even a person. I'm a collection of contradictions and miracles, bound together by sunlight and darkness, psychotic hatred and eternal burning pure love. I'm also much more than that; I am a story, a home, a lone wolf that howls in the night. I'm the comet streaking through the sky on the way to do good, bright, destructive and dark things.
Ask me on my death bed. I might have an answer on that day. But seriously, fuck off with the vacuous questions.