The corridor smells like paint and cigarettes. A group of wanna be vampire junkies crowd the bottom of the stairs. One covers himself with a blanket, and from where I’m standing it looks like he’s jacking off. I say fuck it and they all turn to look. There are easier ways out of this building.
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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