The Ballad of Sailor

I'm staggering home in the heartbreak hours, past endless pulled down shutters.

There's some kid perched on a low wall, ankles crossed. Long haired head dangling down down down between his knees like a wilted sprig. I drop a note into his lap, it reads;

"Desire whore mornings coming down in dirty sheets..? You look just like Sylvain Sylvain. I want to put a belt around your neck."

It's hard to just let them go in a place like this. All it takes is one more bottle to the face, one more bone broke by his best friend's brother and his violent expressions of lust. Real ale rugby boys beating the pretty out so they won't have his dick in their dreams. That's all it would take.

I'm 26 this month, does that make me a paedophile?

It's just, I feel like I have to save him.