For the Savage One!
Strange. I’m one of the good ones. I did not expect that.
I could have told you that, child, if only you had asked.
I’m one of the good ones and I did not even know. I’m one of the innocents. One of the survivors from a wreck they said there were no survivors.
I’m wandering, in search of company, not sure of what I know. Perhaps I’m wrong? Perhaps everyone feels this way, thinks this way, is sure they are one of the good ones? What happened with me? Why did I survive?
You are marked.
I never wanted to be this. I never wanted to be me. I have been trying all along to be not one of these and now I find I still am. Well send me a Jimi Hendrix album and I will have a night in Samarkand Hotel. I can’t say Fuck the World anymore because I’m not qualified, I’ve been rendered invalid. Oh what the hell?
I want to be in your soul kitchen.
All this drinking, this whoring, these lies, this vanity and nothing remains but these scant memories and they cannot fill the back of an old receipt, ha! You think you have lived, listen to the drunken rumblings, I will not. It will not change me, change who I’m, change my grading, I’m finished.
You cannot be anything other what you are, it’s your nature.
Stolen hours in the beds of rich men’s daughters’ before the back door 6pm escape never counted much, no friendships here. Workshop days without the skill, on boda bodas with helmeted riders who speak another language, to meet the boss’s clever son, when did they ever matter? This is life, in brief sentences. All life. Experience. Sad. I’m one of the innocents, did you not know? Entomb me now, I was always good at that. Where’s my Edgar Allan Poe?
I want my Edgar Allan Poe!
Take It As It Comes by The Doors