Note From My Future Self

I hope by some unexplainable miracle that you get this and read it but I don't have high hopes. When you live in a gutter, the only elevated things are your mind from years of narcotics. I would simply tell you to give up on that stupid writer dream, throw a tarp over your mental scars, get a job, fall in with the plastic parade, conform, and plaster fake smiles on every wall. But I know you're too stubborn for that. So hear goes nothing: First, trust no one who uses the word “brother” as a term of endearment. They'll only use the blood to suffocate you. There will be pairs of beautiful eyes inviting you into forever. Don't follow. It's just where sanctuary and kindness go to die. Family ties may be strong but don't rely on them to hold you together. You may ask “what can?” but I honestly don't know out of artificial means. Don't let other's venom poison you. The only antidotes are apathy or inflated arrogance. Avoid parties. They're only filled with countless people you'll never relate to and the mornings after just paint you to look like a stunted clown. Kill your emotions and drag the corpse down High Street to show them all they'll never win. Oh, and for God's sake, don't listen to any notes claiming to be from the future!