Selective Vision.

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 

you off?

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.

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