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My Hope. My Tightrope

A Scrap of Work

I drink in the devil's playground. My demons sing a harmony. We're feral complexities who never tasted the normality and happy sequences in our adolescence.

Adolescence always looks so glazed and glorious behind the TV screen but in reality it's ugly, shameful, and hateful. I never went to prom I was working through the nightlife washing dishes so now legally an adult I'm walking on a tightrope, alcoholism on the left and a comfortable thought of suicide on the right. 

I feel angry and malnurished, hanging onto hope and slipping.                                               I just want the humble aspects. I just want a decent job.                                                             I just want a break. I just want somebody to love me.   I drink. I act foolish.                    My mouth moves impulsively and my words spill out my mouth like a jagged edge.            I just want what you take for granted. You have somebody who shows they love you and you take that for granted while I observe in secret envy and jealously. Why can't I have love? Why can't I maintain a job? Why can't I stop loving so easily? You say you want plastic surgery and I laugh, take a swig and ask you if a boy has ever complained? Your insecurities are what I'm in love with but my insecurities repulse you and you tolerate my issues like I'm a kid again with a social worker. I'm blinded and overdosing within my dreamscape of ambition. I'm hanging onto hope. 

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My Hope. My Tightrope
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