Get Me Right

All of this is really just my reflexes, addressing the ever present lull. Pen to paper in hopes of a resolution and such.

My thoughts serving as the The FAA to my fleeing emotions. Line each one up on the runway for departure. Tell the pilot to hold her steady and don't look down.

Sun filtering through partially cracked blinds. Shimmering near my feet on the carpet below. It feels like this should be some Louisiana court room in the middle of an Indian summer. Slow fans spinning to the rhythm of nothingness. As if fate has all the time in the world.

Wasted... My own daylight. Ive been loading the chamber and taking chances with the trigger for years now. It could be so much worse. I can't wait until we can speak of this in past tense.