coming off junk.

choose life. 

          choose a job. 

                         choose a career. 

                                        choose a family. 

                                                  choose a big television, 

                                                            choose washing machines, 

                                                                      cars, 

                                                                                compact disc players and 

                                                                                electrical tin openers.

                                                                                          choose good health, 

                                                                                                    low cholesterol, 

                                                                                                              and dental 

                                                                                                              insurance. 

choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. 

          choose a starter home. 

                    choose your friends. 

                              choose leisurewear and matching luggage. 

                                        choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range 
                                        of fabrics. 

                                                  choose d.i.y.,

                                                            and wondering who the fuck you are on 

                                                            sunday morning.

choose sitting on that couch--

          watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing junk 
          food into your mouth. 

                    choose rotting away at the end of it all, 

                              pissing your last in a miserable home, 

                                        nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, 

                                                  fucked up brats you spawned to replace 

                                                  yourselves. 

                                                            choose your future. 

                                                                      choose life.

and you.

choose fantasy.

choose normality.

choose duality and fraud.

choose your malady over something real.

this is the last i'll think of you.

this is how you've made yourself to be remembered.

this is how a lot of people think of you, i hope you know.

this is what i want you to be reading right now.

this isn't what i wanted for you. ever.

this is what you made for yourself.

this is the last thought i have regarding you:

you are a small and insecure child.

i dare you to try and play me again.

i fucking dare you--watch me turn you away.

when i think of you,

   when i hear your name,

      when i see your pictures,

         when i remember how much i care about you (still),

            when i consider the person you could be,

all i feel is deep, abysmal, gut-wrenching disgust.

you are never on my mind.
you are the horror story that my friends tell.
you are not even a memory to me.

let me know if you ever grow up.

i choose life over the living-dead i am with you. 




(i wish it were different.)

my skinny, skinny love.

who will love you?