Fleeting...

We are not rock stars,
We are heroes to millions,
And just like modern morbid prophecies,
We're too good to be true.

-Dano

At times like these, I like to go to where I feel comfortable, where the rituals are familiar. I can't seem to face this reality, nor the next. It all just reminds me of suicide, or rather, the moment just before. The anticipation, of wonder, of pulse-moment-pulse. Seems like it never ends, these moments. The only ones I like are the laughing ones. Always laughing, making it seem ok for a while. Fleeting. Feet pounding pavement, and pulse pounding head. The music of obscurity, that no one will hear, except for the safe ones, the ones without homes. One step, another, faster, until breathing is all I am, and can be. Then it's ok, for a while. Fleeting. Muscles ache, and shake. Gotta lift one more time, maybe then I'll be different. Maybe then, I'll like myself. Maybe tomorrow, maybe never...