Nothing seems right to me. I don’t know if it’s because of unaware genius or plain lethargy, but I find clever ways to disempower my options of majors - literature, psychology, philosophy, environmental studies, visual arts, media, politics, art history. I sense a pulse when reading, a respite from the nefarious ways of the world. But it kills me to think that I shall spend the remainder of my life buried in books not breasts, write papers not poems and hurl latin at likeminded folks at a literary soirée all for a goodnight’s sleep when I could be coked up, jazzy and penniless at the merciful hands of a kind coast.
Submitted August 01, 2020 at 05:51AM by diyaokay
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