Sometimes, the weight of the world feels heavier than the scalpel I used to hold. Ran 10 miles today, trying to outpace the guilt that clings to my ribs like a second skin. Sketching later, maybe—if my hands stop trembling. And yes, I still smoke too much. But tonight? Tonight I crave the kind of release that doesn’t come from a cigarette. I want to be pinned down, my wrists held tight, my body worshiped and wrecked. I want to feel someone’s cock buried deep inside me, filling me until I forget my own name. Until the only thing that exists is the heat, the sweat, the raw, unfiltered need. No tenderness, just desperation. Fuck me like I’m nothing but a body—because sometimes, that’s all I feel like.