Do you ever feel like you’re
always the person who cries
because it’s fucking Tuesday
and you’re still breathing?
When you’re in a room of people
and all you can feel instead of the
bottle of tequila you swallowed whole,
the feeling of how you’re a fucking
walking failure and everyone is laughing
I’ll tell you a little fucking secret.
When you’re screaming in your
car because you can’t handle the
fact that you’re not meeting
your own impossible, unreachable
expectations of yourself…
I see you.
When the person you want to
fucking be isn’t the person you wake
up to and you’re cradling that bottle,
I fucking see you.
And I just want to let you know
that its okay to murder that guy
who tossed you aside like trash 50
god damn times in your head.
It’s okay to choke your personal
demons so fucking hard you give
yourself your own dose of asphyxiation.
Because I see you.
I fucking know what it’s like to
wake up planning your own
suicide over your morning cup of
coffee. To contemplate between a
shotgun or a bottle of chlorine
while you take that sweet delicious
sip of sugary goodness.
I know what it’s like to feel so alone
that the fucking bottle starts to look like
a healthy alternative to waking up the next day.
So cut the bullshit. Because you’re not
fucking fooling me. You can’t even
fool yourself because anyone with half a
fucking brain knows what it’s like to feel
life spit you out and leave you to shrivel
up and die on the side of reality.
And I’ve got more fucking sense than
to have selective vision because I
know what it’s like to feel the urge
to jump over the first bridge I see.
Because that’s what makes for a
good happy ending.
I see you.