Lost identity.

"I love the permanence of a tattoo. It fades, but it never goes away."

Facing an identity crisis. I don't really know what to do or where I'm heading. I am very, very lost right now. I also realized that I don't have too many people to turn to. And I don't want to turn to anyone actually. I randomly pick people off my contact list, and start talking to them. Spill every beans from corners of my heart, and never stop.

Please, dear me, for once seize your own damn glory. Live your own fucking life. Before it's all too late.

It's been awhile since the few of the brothers talked. Or even hung out together. We're like very close strangers. We know that we'll always be a phone call away from each other, but we never make those calls. I haven't told any one of them how bothered I have been of late. Work has been tough. So tough. Engine oil soaked me good, staying till 3 on a fucking Friday to finish up work when half the ravers were going crazy with Andrew Rayels in Zouk.

Please.

The best thing that has happened to me in my whole life, is probably tattooing. Every single one of them on me have never disappointed me in anyway. They've stuck by me, and I love them so very much. I look forward to getting more done, and I cannot wait to love the new ones as much as I love the old ones. Because fuck bitches, get tattoo. Am I right?

Glass half full.

I forgot when was the last time I felt that surge of coldness rushing up my face. That painful sting that pierced through my heart when I saw something that made it fall to the bottom of my stomach. Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter anymore. I was all alone again. More so than before.

I don't call for help. Never did, never will. It's not something I do very well. I like to keep hurtful things to myself. I don't go, "I need to talk my heart out, will you be my listening ear?". I don't. I can't seem to do it. So I can't really blame people for not knowing when to be there for me.

But there's one thing I do best that I am very proud of. I reason things out with myself. I talk to myself a lot.

Start again.

If, and I mean if, you worry for me. Don't. If you're reading this, ask me if I'm fine. Ask me what's wrong. Ask me if there's anything you can do for me. Be there for me. I need someone. I need a soul. I need an outlet. I've been keeping things to myself for way too long. I need a listening ear. I need to ramble on and on for an hour or so. I need to cry my heart out. I need to punch the walls till my knuckles bleed. I need to feel love again. But I probably won't. I will tell you everything is fine. I'm doing a-okay. I'm better than before. I will fake a smile, tell you to not worry. We will go for a drink or two, and after one too many, I will lie on the ground. Drunk and sad, perhaps call the wrong person at the wrong time and say the wrong words. But it's okay. I will make all that mistake. I will learn. I WILL be better one day. But not today. Today, I will sit and soak in sadness. And when you read this, it's probably too late. I have probably moved on and am already happier. So don't you worry for me. Do not waste your time on me. I am a hopeless soul. Spend your time on others, those who can still be helped. Look away. Don't waste your time on me.