Choose life.

Choose life. Choose a job.
Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television.
Choose washing machines, cars, compact-disc players,
and electrical tin openers.
Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance.
Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home. Choose your friends.
Choose leisurewear and matching luggage.
Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose D.I. Y. and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting, watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.

Choose rotting away at the end of it, pissing your last in a miserable home.
An embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats that you’ve spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future. Choose life.

But why would I want to do a thing like that?
I chose not to choose life.
I chose something else.
And the reasons?
There are no reasons.
Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Choose life.
Choose Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and hope that someone, somewhere cares.
Choose looking up old flames, wishing you’d done it all differently.
And choose watching history repeat itself.
Choose your future.
Choose reality TV, slut shaming, revenge porn.
Choose a zero hour contract, a two hour journey to work.
And choose the same for your kids, only worse, and smother the pain with an unknown dose of an unknown drug made in somebody’s kitchen.

And then, take a deep breath.
You’re an addict, so be addicted. Just be addicted to something else.
Choose the ones you love.
Choose your future.

Choose life.

Mark Trenton

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