Oh where to even begin. Stream of conciousness anyone? That's pretty much where my writing abilities lie. Pretty much a bad boy, with a major in irreverance and a minor in gonzo journalism.
Journey to the Center of the Universe
I was sitting on a bed in my back bedroom on a Friday evening. The room was barren, only a bed and bookshelf. Some transparent tape remained from the posters that were removed from the walls, though curtains still hung in the windows. Someone used to live there. A life took place there, but that had passed months ago when my marriage ended and she left along with my son. The only thing that existed there now was a reminder of my severe depression, easily the worst I had ever felt. One I was certain I’d never recover from.