I am seeking a confidant, a loser like me.
My pre-requisites are simple.
I desire a lack of ambition. I am looking for self-loathing.
This depressant-applicant should come pre-equipped with a heart that is
worn and long faded away like a hundred shipwrecks.
His or her life shall be in shambles, with no chance of redemption.
I do not seek and/or desire joy.
Upon accepting employment, we can sit and discuss the validity of Heaven.
It can be just the two of us alone, in a rundown café, mocking second chances;
we the misfits.
Upon accepting employment, we can harmoniously blend in with the rest of the world,
but as stated in the employee handbook, there will be no chance of ever returning to a previous life,
one with positive emotions or days that come bearing smiles and laughter.
Once sad, depressed, picked over and fucked by the world, left out to rot as seagull bait,
it will be there that you shall remain for the rest of your days.
You will stay there until the seagulls finish you off, as also stated in the employee handbook.
Our individual façades will shield us from the ugliness of people.
We can be one another’s savior.
Until I find this friend, this new hire, I will continue hiding in my thoughts,
scared to step out of the daydreams that I live in. But you’ll know where to find me when you’re ready to apply
for this picture perfect picnic.
I hide because I’m not ready for reality just yet. The time ticking away on the imaginary clock of
life has long captivated me and won’t let go. I cannot handle non-fiction.
Openings are currently available and I am now accepting applications.
The happy need not apply.