Newer memories are slipping, everything’s been getting so fuzzy lately. Was all you’ve done, everything you’ve become for nothing?
And it’s killing you just the same.
This regret without a name.
You had your chance at escape and took it, but now for some reason which you’re having an increasingly difficult time remembering, you came back and staying means a slow and painful death sentence at your own hands.
It’s sickening like ink lingering in your mouth and it stains in all the same ways.
What’s a boy to do?
Do you rebel and leave? Can you, even? Since that’s the obvious choice, the one everyone expects you to make, do you then rebel and stay?
Decisions, decisions.
The fate of your parents and their parents. Are you mature enough to make the difficult choice, the selfless choice, the stupid choice, the utterly and completely idiotic one?
You're being a bit melodramatic.
It’s really that simple. Start a fire and walk away.
Watch it burn from a hillside or at a safe distance, on a TV in a bar somewhere.
Stay. Go. What difference does it make? No matter where you go, your life will ultimately reach the same outcome.
You’ll be miserable here in much the same way you are miserable everywhere else.
Because
you see,
it’s not them,
you self-centered
little fuck.
You are the problem. It’s you and your own self-destructive flaw of which you have now and forever condemned yourself.
Misery loves company and company, thy name is you.