on burnt bridges and sailed ships

it is your choice. it is your choice to continue careening angrily through life like a tarnished errant pinball. it is your choice to snap like a rabid dog at the hands that would help boost you up.

it is your choice to hold grudges like blankets made of tetanus and barbed wire, clutching them close till they disease your blood, and lock your jaw.

it is your choice to pick friends who will tell you what you want to hear over your true friends. friends who worry about you and aren't afraid to tell you that you are maybe making poor choices. it is your choice to leave these true, but sometimes painful, friendships behind like rotting leftovers of savory dishes that you have enjoyed until they no longer served your tastes.

it is your choice to douse the timbers in gasoline and strike the match. it is your choice to stand, hand on hip, the line of your mouth set hard, back turned; on the docks as the cruise line pulls away, blasting its final farewell air horn into the dark, empty night.

darth sardonic