January 13, 2015
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Failure is not fatal.
Hell if I knew;
It’s like cutting open a tortilla pack,
slipping with the knife on the final hurdle,
and then learning that the tortillas were mouldy…
and then your new lover learning that you eat plain tortillas on their own.
It’s another level of disappointment.
Sure, it’s not fatal, but, oh God, the pain.
It’s brutal, malevolent and leaves a red-alert, not-so-paper trail.
Withdrawing from the whole thing takes a lot, because in my situation, you would’ve just started a healthy diet,
leaving that gaping abyss some place between your lungs, like a sink-hole,
you don’t even know where you’re putting it.
You would’ve texted the girl you like, saying something embarrassing.
You would’ve left your last lifeline behind, like a bad episode of ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire?’,
and now you’re left with nothing, stubbornly exclaiming how you’ve won, you’ve beat the system,
you had damn good reason and feeling truly alone.
You’ll hate your life,
have a damn painful finger,
and scared you’re gonna live your whole life alone, full of regret.
I hate this feeling. It’s like being cheated on by God himself.
You haven’t a single friend in the world and you’re pretending that it’s all fine,
but the abyss doesn’t even want to make eye contact anymore:
he’s picked up his fucking phone.
One day, you have to decide to just fuck it.
I only know how to reverse in stick-shift, so I guess I’m going forward.
I’m not afraid… maybe a little. I’m about to hit a junction. Big one, too.
Biting point, anxiety, blah blah. Just push the pedal, slam down the accelerator,
because, as a wise man once said, ‘gotta go fast’.
Another one also said:
“Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be.”