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Its just a journal entry, but I feel like i can take it further, fictionalize aspects, writing is my cure, Im only just starting out working on my storys and research full time. But given my lack of experience, do I have potential?
"I don’t want to wake up one morning, sun peering in through the window to find l, like many men before me have lost my health and my humanity to an inescapable void, a hunger for desire, all bad men eventually walk\ a path of unfortunate events, brought on by nothing but hedonistic lust. I remember being a young boy, puppet like, held up by strings, stringers knotted in family ties and affairs that were ignored, the masks they wore soon tattered and worn. These memories while recent \in the span of my life, seem so distant, they seem a nebula of dust, broken thought and shattered memories.. Those that I remember, despite my sadness, I look back on and smile, my mind will briefly dance in fantasy, a warn and comfortable dream.

My experience seems void of positivity and drive, why pick flowers in the meadows when one can bask in the shadows, and from a distant watch the world grow and decay, and grow again. In my mind I stand at night on a rainy street corner, Lost in desire as I stare at the rear legs of a whore, as if in away I am absorbing her heat, her scent, For some reason my senses are heightened and I can almost smell her pheromones seeping through her pores. I am trapped, Oh i am trapped so greatly in the euphoria of one great extreme, as another part of myself fights other possibility, other dreams and dark impulses."