seeking jazz or sex or soup,

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I want to share a flask and my body with you on top of our shitty apartment building.



Honestly, I just want to screw and drink and devour art these days. I don’t know if I want to be something, but I want something. In the words of a song I’m writing “Am I trying to be someone or am I trying to belong?”

Love, lust, art, passion, whiskey, vodka, music, poetry. Drunk, sober, fuck, fucked, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, I want it all, but I don’t know what I get from you.

I want to fall asleep in your arms, I want to wake up with a hangover and your naked body beside me. I want days of music and philosophy and porn. I want you to kiss me and grab me and tie me up and let me free. 

I want you.

The trouble is, I don’t know who you are, at least I think I don’t.

Do I?

And thus ends the posts I queued while drunk. Tonight, at least.

Definatelty not enough porn.