Sometimes pills are like an alias.
Alcohol, drugs, all of it.
I look down at the empty package as it dissolves on my tongue and think, “fuck, I really hate this guy.”
I don’t even know who my friends are friends with. Who my family loves.
Are they just accepting the real me while they patiently await my more functional counterpart?
He dances and makes lame jokes.
He doesn’t sit around making some philosophical point while we all know he’s just some loser cashier.
I look through this makeshift portfolio thinking, “you called this art?”
Do they just wait it out because well fuck it, he’s a swell guy and he does better than I can do.
Am I a swell guy?
Do I even like swell guys?
…or am I just the fat chick at prom whose girlfriends tell her how surprised they are she hasn’t found the right guy.

I didn’t even go to prom.

Well down another one as I try to sleep and push forward to…this non-existent blur of a future I have been trying so hard for.

night.

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