comfort comes to me in broken syllables, whiskey dripping off its lips, with its teeth in my neck. it bleeds me out dry, runs me to the mill, and tosses my bare body down the lovers' hills. it sneaks up upon me, in the moments where i am full of despair, where my mind is full of thoughts, and my heart has been drained out. it pours itself upon my withered soul, and i am nurtured back to health in its warm embrace. it is uncertain, the feeling being foreign.

how is it that i find solace in something so unfamiliar, yet something that feels like home?