After pissing in the White Castle parking lot I buy four joints, smoke one by the subway. Her and I message. She tells me she hopes I’m all right, I left in a fugue. I say that I am even though I’m not sure. I smoke a cigarette and take the train.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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