It’s hard not to hate.
People, things, institutions… when they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed, hate is the only feeling that makes sense.
But I know what hate does to a man. It tears him apart, turns him into something he’s not, something he promised himself he’d never become.
That’s what I need to tell you, to let you know how hard I’m trying to not cave under the weight of all the awful things I feel in my heart.
Sometimes my life feels like a deadly balancing act. What I feel slamming up against what I should do. Impulsive reactions racing to solutions miles ahead of my brain.
When I look at my day, I realize that most of it was spent cleaning up the damage of the day before. In that life I have no future, all I have is distraction and remorse.
I buried my best friend three days ago. As clichéd as this sounds, I left a part of me in that box. A part I barely knew, a part I’ll never see again.
Every day is a new box boys. You open it, you take a look at what’s inside. You’re the one that determines if its a gift or a coffin.