death is the dream you have nightmares about
I usually get this way, late night, many drinks in. You know the way. Self loathing, destructive, lost, and ready to give up. It's no different tonight. Many drinks in. At twenty-two, is this really the way to live? An every night therapy session of he-said-she-said-tug-of-war inside my warped mind. And by therapy session I mean pseudo insight after lots of self medicating. The boy who hates movies, always chasing them. He who can't commit, dying for some stability. Last night I jumped off a 3rd story railing only to catch myself on the ledge and scrape my way to safety by swinging onto the second floor walkway. Second chances, I've had my share. What's the point? The point is, I held on, I pulled my weight up and decided to hit the walkway and not the cement 2 floors below. The point is it is always me in the end. One person. Fading. If one is the loneliest number, I'm whatever comes next. Too stubborn to except his own fate.