Don't Look Back

There is nothing funny about guilt.

That dirty little bitch that always tries to harsh your mellow and kill your buzz. She scolds you for your erratic behavior and looks down on you sharply over her horn-rimmed glasses. I always enjoy the look on her face after I ignore her attempts to point out my mistakes, and meet her squarely with a raised "Fuck off" finger. She can't be all that tough, or she would be reigning victorious over the desire to sin by now. Punk assed hooker.

You tards have ALL done it.

Wanted something that you know is in all likelihood not good for you. Discussed the options rationally in your head. Sometimes pondered longer than necessary before brushing that irritating angelic voice of reason from your shoulder. Ignored your own good advice and dove head first into the shallow end anyway. Self harm is a wonderful avenue to saunter down, and I encourage you all to build vast cities of wrongness and party like staffers in the street. It's humbling, and above all it's fucking fun. This boy tends to agree with whatever bright mind that uttered the words, "That which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger", as failure is the only opportunity to begin again, this time more wisely.

What's really stopping you from bending your boss over the desk and cramming a greasy one into his rectum? How about reintroducing yourself to the chemical man on the corner? You know you want to. How much longer can you prolong revealing to your significant other your secret desire to dress in ladies undergarments and join a Broadway cast? More importantly, how significant is your other if they don't already know and accept these things about you? Get fucking real. All theories and warnings aside, it's time to raise the chaos flag and do whatever the fuck you want to do for the time being. Kick a small dog, flip off an innocent child, expose your junk to your probation officer, or key the front panel of your ex's new Beemer. Drink copious amounts of moonshine, burn the green, cook the rock, sniff the white, and sink the pink. Morals and ethics are all relative, and no one is born good, so quit fucking pretending and embrace the joker that you keep locked up in the closet.

Do it without consideration of the consequences, and revel in the pleasure of selfishness, 'cause it won't last long. And after the smoke clears, the cough has diminished, the rash faded and the wounds scabbed over, wear your scars proudly and hail the next cab back to reality. You won't get battle wounds like these from sitting there watching life pass you by. Don't regret the marks, don't repent, and don't look back.

It would absolutely blow chunks through a straw to be sorry, remorseful and full of self loathing, spending hours upon days reflecting and trying to make it all right again only to find Peter laughing and pointing at you from the golden gates, shouting "Too late fucker, your game was over at GO!". That, young grasshoppers, would be a fate worse than the stoked pits of everburning hell. All that time wasted on useless wholesome ventures, when it could have been spent much more ceremoniously swimming in the glory of hedonistic pleasures. There is no right and wrong here, folks, only fun and boring. Quit sitting there whining about how lame and dull your life is, envying those who have the courage to walk the narrow path. Join in the crusade, and fear judgment not. The only true judges are out pounding the sidewalk alongside you. Eventually, if you allow yourself to, you'll come to a crossing, to a place that is always fun, where fantasy and reality blend inconspicuously into our drab society and where you can be who you really are. The journey will be a twisted, amusing pain in the ass, but the destination, should you arrive, is worth it's weight in gold. Besides that, we all know that the real fun is in getting there.

Get on the fun bus.