Checked my pulse and did pushups until my arms fell off in some vain attempt to maintain a level of fitness that has been pressed onto me by the magazines and the machine that owns my soul. Drank whiskey because the burn felt better than facing the fears in my life that only exist because my ego is too big to hide in this suitcase. Hid from my hiding spot when the sun went down.
Sorrow. Borrow. Tomorrow.
Don’t you know me? Haven’t you seen the sights named after me? Haven’t you secretly snapped your selfie with my likeness in the background?
Once a loser, always a loser. Shots fired...from a seventeen year old gun. Rust on the bullets. Dust in the chamber. What kind of person hangs onto that kind of anger for so long? What kind of person feels the need to cleanse their soul at the expense of another? You know. You know damn well and you know your tree lost all its leaves when you lied and when you left and there’s no chance they’ll regrow. That’s life. That’s how things unfold in real time. Everything ends. Even your ignorance.