decadencesupreme
I live far too decadent a life, and it's killing me. I don't think I'd notice if anyone stuck me up with an IV of alcohol... and such decadence leads to debaucherous encounters with the opposite sex, all the while wishing brokenheartedly that I had someone who cared, and to care for, once again... not someone whose name I'll barely remember in the morning, who treats me as just another slab of flesh on the eternal hunting grounds of sexual liberation... if that's what it is that they seek.
Me, I seek solace, and I'll be damned if I'm getting any.
Maybe it's being home that makes me so bloody morose. I hate this side of town. Downtown s fun, but all in all I miss Ottawa... my friends are there, save a few around these parts and many in NY, none of whom I've seen since I got home.
Sure, maybe you might think I've nothing to complain about. I'm getting laid, aren't I? This should be a good thing...
A heart like mine doesn't allow for random casual sex to be a good thing, much as it can be enjoyable. The regret and the longing far outweigh the simple pleasures.
What I would give to be back in Ottawa, with my friends, drinking... smoking... and being on the dance floor once again... and what I would give to find someone who meant something, someone who I could actually give a damn about.
Sometimes I'm just a bit of an asshole.