...

Memory Flashing

Welcome to the end of days, a disgusting portion of your life where the last moments are a highlight reel of your insolence towards a greater purpose. You grab at the coattails of these better times, looking for photos or text exchanges of when you felt real, and yet, in this moment you are not. You're a filthy imitation of what you should be in your dying days. A martyr is to be made of every good man, and yet here I am, curling up and embracing a family photo as if it's what I want to leave behind. I do not want to leave her behind, I do not want to leave these material things in my wake, because that current in the water will be too embarassing to claim if I leave it like I would, without correction. Disgusting. Fucking putrid, it is. Get a grip and stop rolling around in your own filth about what things were like. You've shared this place with too many people, and now you're a spectacle, a burden on the eyes of those you deem worse than yourself, the less conscious.

We're going to have to do something about this, and it's going to be big. No amount of drugs or alcohol can fix it on their own, and quite frankly they get in the way. Damn if it isn't a pretty distraction, but you know better, you fucking faggot. Catch what little breath you deserve and start moving.

2/25/26