Friday, 4 September 2015

Practice Makes Perfect. But I Can't Prove It.

     You walk past their filthy club. And the only thing that hits you is their collective stench. It's like waves of filth wrapped around your head. I think I've used that metaphor before. Don't really mind. Especially since I'm the only one who reads them.
     Cologne and sweat. Cheap cologne and Instagram sweat. And they think that I'm the one who's crazy. I'm one of them. And I'm worse than them. I'm phonier and more pretentious. I FAILED. I can't stand out. I became everything I hated. I care only about myself.
    And off course I care about the way they perceive me. Can you forget them? I might be wrong. False. I hope I am wrong.

    Have you noticed how at least half of my sentences start with "I"?
   
    I 'm afraid I can't go back to where I started. I used to feel happy all the time.
   
    Now my fake smile rules my world.
   
    An excuse to avoid talking.
    I don't even get along with myself.
   
    How can you get along
    with other people?

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