I guess this is where I tell you who in the world I am. My name is Benjamin; call me that as much as you would like. My "fursona," or my other, lovable me, could be called Bomb; you can also call me that as much as you would like. Whichever name you choose, I will listen to you, whether those words be spatter or flutter. I am quite easy to get along with, I would say.

I am what some would call "gothic," but I tend to stray from that word when regarding myself. Yes, I wear black. Yes, I wear skinny jeans. Yes, I dwell on my uncomfortable feelings of life itself. Yes, I happen to adore studded chokers--anything spiky and brutal (as far as fashion goes), as a matter of fact. But I never let the lights of the hardcore scenery blind me from my morality or my intellectuality. Those are kept sacred.

By now you are thinking, "Why is this overview of a simple human taking so long to read?" I can answer that: I am sharing with you that I am a writer. Under the art of poetry, I express every emotion known to man. Easy emotions, like love and sadness, happiness and death, come easily to mind--but there are others that people do not clutch as often within their pens. Emotions like insanity, hate, alcoholism, agonizing, physical pain--even murderous bloodlust--are also within my pen's range. I hope that when you read my work, you will feel the very emotion that I convey. It is a treat, courtesy of yours truly, I would like to think.

But I do not think that. Below this exterior of flabby flesh and putrid hair reigns the thoughts of being an insubordinate to you all. I am an insect--a step on a stair--the parasite of your lives.

That should be enough about myself. Anymore questions will be answered as promptly as possible--and in a much more happier tone. I assure you of that. Hopefully we could end up being friends, and hopefully you could help me learn more about this silly thing that we, as living organisms, call Life.