It’s punishing but I make it through the day to receive the end with glee. I shut down machines. I rush out the door and into the sun. I pedal away thinking of a cigarette and a large dinner. The comfort of her bed. My arm around her. There’s nothing more.
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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