..and this seems to be just the way i feel.

I may seek comfort in the strange embrace of someone forlorn to me, in the distressed smother of having a dick stuffed in my mouth as if I am a dead, lost turkey on the ground the day after Thanksgiving and I may seek comfort in the sporadic fucks alongside the theater stairway.
And yet.
I would drop my history books, my nice ballpoint pens, the notebooks, the free sex, cigarettes, a cup of coffee and a limp sweater in the swamp of the hallways and rush outside and die from the cold if it meant that I could hold you.


Nevermind that I would probably, accidently, misplace my heart during the long trek across the desert of snow and sadness.