fucking live


Scroll down your endless enamoured Facebook feed. Go on. Give a piece of your mind to whatever insignificant junk that demands it. Words after words after words manipulating your entire life into moods you didn't even want. Trust a freaking artificial intelligence algorithm to know you better. React to random photographs of random people you see every other day, and people you don't (want to...?). Seek attention with photographs of the same face you've had for years, taken in different angles, hoping someone somewhere cares that you exist. Laugh at a bright digital screen because that's what your life has come to, and you're now wondering if you're a sick waste of space, and air, and time, regretting having lost those minutes, hours, days of your life then, and more suddenly important minutes now. Fuck that.

It took me a few generalizations to tell you what's wrong with your broken life. Sadness is a trend. Happiness is a smiling face. Laughter is a fucking drug you need to think your life has any direction. Delusional asses think their life is limited to the 5 mile journey from work to home and back, everyday for years. How is your life any different- work, college, school, and then back home, or whatever collection of furniture you think you can call home. Go swim blind in your ocean of hypocrisy, with nothing else in sight, almost angered, protesting against this stupid authoritative piece of trash you're reading, yet reading on hoping this somehow adds meaning to your life. Is that what you want? Meaning and a pair of tinted glasses to see unicorns?

Let me tell you something. Unicorns are overrated. Meaning is a fucking stereotype. You spend your life eating expensive rot made of the same nutrients as everything else and life sells your heart out to the Devil you thought you're only good friends with and don't have those kind of feelings for. Fuck poetry, and fuck memes, and fuck you.

Don't just stay alive, so sure that the comatose sleeping position you crawl into day after day is the most comfort you'll ever have in life. Go live, if you have a damn to give yourself. Look down at yourself in the mirror, and breathe deeper as you cry about your little insecurities, alone, and then you better fucking look up, damn it. Live life on your terms. Breathe in the toxic waste that your air is, and forego swearing at the traffic. You're here. You're necessary for this world to be worth something, anything. So make those memories while you can, and do yourself a favour by doing something more worthwhile than just reacting on text written by some fool you don't even know, only to go back to your sold life.

Get up. Move on. Lose those pounds if you hate them so much. Break those bottles if you know they're glorified poison. Stop applying patches after patches to feel the high, only to crash down to the low that your standard of life is. Go find love, but don't for a second make it seem you don't own your shit. Claim your life back.

Fucking live.
Written by Yash Raj Talan

[note to self: you're allowed to be angry at yourself. you're allowed to heal]

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