Choose life.
Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, smart phones and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY, and sitting on a couch piss drink on a Sunday morning wondering where the hell you went wrong. Choose sitting on the couch watching mind numbing, spirit crushing crappy gameshows stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all. Breathing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose life.
YOU ARE READING
Reveries: Concoctions Of A Teenage Boy Who Doesn't Know Jack Shit.
Science FictionWhen we are born, we cry; that we are come to this great stage of fools.
