Speedway

I am tired. The bone weary tired of those who have forgotten how to sleep. Sitting awake at night, a pistol in a loose grip, a bottle of vodka in a tight one.

I am thinking about quitting, thinking about leaving tomorrow.

I know I have been wasting my time.

I am thinking about getting out. It wears on you. This life and these deaths.

There is no one to talk to. Some things you just can't explain. No shrinks, no lovers, not even fellow game players can share these burdens. I need someone to talk to. I lost my one chance at understanding and I can't get it back. I can't get her back.

I must be a sucker for this kind of pain. It's gotten so I have no pride at all. I keep returning to it over and over. The well never runs dry and I am always thirsty.

I am losing my edge. I am beginning to care. It's getting harder and harder and yet I stay. I must get off on this stuff.

I am thinking about leaving tomorrow. I have forgotten what its like to be on my own. Not someone's gopher, errand boy, hit man, or whore. I forget that I know how to feel. That things effect me. Things stop and make me wonder. Things touch me in simple ways. I forget I am human. I sit up here looking down upon Los Angeles. I have broken and remade myself so many times can I do it again?

Have I waited too long? I am thinking about getting out. Can I go? When I shed this skin will there be another one underneath or will there just be bones waiting to be broken into dust.

I am thinking about leaving tomorrow. Thinking about being on my own. My life has been wasted time keeping me alive but making me hollow. Is this what I wanted? Is this who agreed to be when I signed my life away?

I am thinking about leaving tomorrow.

I think I have been waiting too long. There is a flight that leaves for DC in the early morning. Just trying to get myself some gravity. I am thinking about getting back home.