The Death Plane
Let's Just say this is a stream of consciousness journal entry that I wrote early this morning and will probably regret later. There is a long back story to all of this, which I am sure you will hear later. Right now, just let it roll over you.
The Death Plane
I am a fool. Jesus, I am such a fool. I'm a little bit drunk, but not drunk enough not to be sober on the inside. I had my chance but there were too many people around. I just want something, anything, to get through the next months. Please please please please, even though it is not right or fair. Anything. Just a memory. I'm tired but I can't sleep. When you sleep, things are lost. I'll sleep on the plane when things are already lost. I'm speaking in generic but true terms. Everything is true. I'm fucked, and yet not fucked. I am a fool. Somebody shoot me. I want so much for myself. I try so hard. This is the human experience. We all are lost. Everything is lost. Should I go to sleep? Should I give up hope? Should I accept that things are lost; that moments go? That life isn't fair. That it is foolish. That I have nothing but this pen and paper. That I had my chance and missed it. I had my chance and missed it. At least I had my chance. The elevator is creaking. It is creaking. Oh, God, who is it? Is it anyone? Ah. It is no one for me.
The Death Plane
I am a fool. Jesus, I am such a fool. I'm a little bit drunk, but not drunk enough not to be sober on the inside. I had my chance but there were too many people around. I just want something, anything, to get through the next months. Please please please please, even though it is not right or fair. Anything. Just a memory. I'm tired but I can't sleep. When you sleep, things are lost. I'll sleep on the plane when things are already lost. I'm speaking in generic but true terms. Everything is true. I'm fucked, and yet not fucked. I am a fool. Somebody shoot me. I want so much for myself. I try so hard. This is the human experience. We all are lost. Everything is lost. Should I go to sleep? Should I give up hope? Should I accept that things are lost; that moments go? That life isn't fair. That it is foolish. That I have nothing but this pen and paper. That I had my chance and missed it. I had my chance and missed it. At least I had my chance. The elevator is creaking. It is creaking. Oh, God, who is it? Is it anyone? Ah. It is no one for me.