Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players 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 suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
August 1st 2011
I’ve never had more beautiful, glowing, colorful shapes in my life. I’m swimming in marvel. I see them on you too. We are radiant.
March 1st 2012
Is he still painted in those circles and squares? I think I’m naked.
July 1st 2012
No, He was bare long before I had rubbed off the first triangle on the back of my neck. Long before I could find the means how to. And it was taking more than soap and water.
September 1st 2012
Mine never faded, but I accidentally hid them. He regained his.
January 1st 2013
Now they are falling off me faster than I can retrieve them from the floor. I’m trying to paint more but the lines aren’t straight and the colors aren’t right.
I’m so sorry.
March 1st 2013
At least I can remember how beautiful they were. Scrub your body from that dirt.
