Being here feels like landing.
The slow descent
It feels good.
It's scary and it's rough, but you know deep down that it'll be okay.
The thing is though...the thing is...
That on some sick level, you
Want it to not be okay.
You want things to just blow up.
Everything. Needs. To. End.
You want this proverbial plane
To crash.
Because returning to your life back home
Doesn't make sense now,
A piece of you has gone away.
So blow up.
Explode.
Implode.
Implode.
Just end.
