When I'm outside at four in the morning standing in the bitter cold smoking my cigarette,
I always look towards the stars and wish that I could fly so ******* far away.
I wish I could sit upon some celestial body with a searing atmosphere and powerful storms so I could rage and scream and my flesh would boil and my bones would melt; my mind would break and my soul would toil on the depression and torment of love and loss until I am nothing more than wisps of carbon on blistering winds.