which bring you down. it’s always someone who done more. always a more success. a more of bitching. a more of love, comfort and journey.
a more of already written a book, god damn rich, a more of having had such a different life. found an own colour. „wow“ you’ll answer, forget who you are. being a crocodile wondering what birds are talking about.

there’ll be times when you’re the one who falls down after two gins. who comes after two minutes and five seconds. who laughs to death after two puffs of a joint.

and one day all those, all these ghosts will be gone. new ghosts will come. and all what lasts are your own. your mdma visions, your never come orgasm because you forgot to relax and your sad view because you forgot to fuck the others, do what you should do. listen to stories. at least: stories which are told. not yours at all. probably but with different smells, different words and colours. so give a fuck, hm?

figure out your own stories even if you can’t write or tell them. be your own big fish.

a firework is never a firework. new years eve is never an new years eve. a beer is never a beer. yours is never mine. but we can have these moments you know. this now. if it’s gay or straight, give a fuck.

lot’s of meaning? give a fuck. life is life is life. so give a fuck. have it done. paint your own sky. have your own story. your own beer. your own firework. good morning world.

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