You know the fucked up part about failing?
You start thinking about all of the people who knew you weren’t shit. The realist.
Obviously I’m a fucking dreamer.
I had my head in the clouds with my motherfucking feet up.
But now, I’ve hit the ground. Face down.
It was lonely up there, but here, it’s jumping.
The crowd is lit, and motherfuckers is stomping to the sound of the beat of the drum.
Misery loves company.
They laugh first, then gather around and help you up.
Tell you to get acquainted and stop thinking about that better life stuff.
Get a real job, grow up.
This is as good as it gets.