Will I Survive? 2..

“Brush the dirt off of your shoulders! Can’t do nothin’ else!”

Others would tell me as frequently as possible, even if their shoulders are stained worse than mine can ever be. But, as much as I despise the phrase, I do regardless of what I am told. With hands still cut open by the jagged edge of a ledge I refused to fall from, I brush it all off while smirking against each sting.

Cut from a piece of cloth no one has ever touched except for my palms! But, as strong I was made, I still wear out like any other’s garment of emotions. Days like these where I’m stuck asking myself, “How the hell am I going to eat right until I find a damn job?” I don’t want to work, I don’t want to get up nor go outside. What I would love to do is exit this reality in its entirely and be on a different plane of existence, achieving a type of high that doesn’t require joint paper and cannabis.

But, I need it. I need it more than I even realize. Because, everybody needs somebody. Everybody needs a hand to hold or a shoulder to fall on once in a while. I’ve needed someone’s love more than ever just to mother fucking know if I have any worth whatsoever on this damn planet. What the fuck am I any good for if I wake up everyday without a single soul to do anything for?

Plenty of good, I suppose. Because, some way, somehow, I receive enough to just get by, to feed my body once more regardless of the amount of food available to me. I still receive another breath of fresh air for reasons I wish God told me. But, does God see how cold I’ve been? Where is the heartwarming hug others have promised they would give as I freeze up and just, stare at my bedroom wall hoping someone would just fucking listen?…

Who knows. All I know is, that I am exhausted. exhausted enough to kick my feet up, meet up with Mary Jane through another joint and just, blaze. Burning every “bud” still stuck in my mind until their ash is carried away by the winds of my sorrows…