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 suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. 
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. 
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. 
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. 
Choose your future. 
Choose life.



Choose life.
Choose Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and hope that someone, somewhere cares.
Choose looking up old flames, wish 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 2-hour journey to work and choose the same for your kids only worse, and smother the pain with an unknown dose of an unkown 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 Renton