Chapter 11

…succumb to self-lust.

The rough edges of my life need to be sanded, but I am not the carpenter to produce such an action and change.

…deviance to the heart is longing to rub my dick against an ex-lover’s rippled stomach.

Deep in the Pacific, where it’s dark and filled with tumultuous waves, there is an unthinkable undertow where only the queerest of men can kiss, longing to be unchained from their secrets of homosexuality, needing to surface and breathe life and freedom into their lungs for maybe the very first time. Clearness.

…beneath the epidermis of every human being, particularly those in toxic relationships, is the virus of denial that love once existed, similar to the belief of religion and Jesus nailed to the cross, dying for our sins.

Somewhere on the other side of realism is the doubt that life is spectacular.

Do with me what you will because I will only give you one chance to hurt me. Trust me when I say this because I am not one to lie to myself.

…counter oxygen.