I don't know. I don't know why I did it. I just saw the blinding opportunity and took it for granted. And you were nothing to me but a pair of headlights. Nothing more--you couldn't be; it was night. I jus' thought t' myself, for the last time, "What if?" Of course I considered family and the future and all that junk, but really--really none of it compared to the spontaneity, the moment, the phantom muse that crawled into me over these years and--with a single swift action, defying all consequence--arose and said "listend' me now." It wasn't a rush. It wasn't a cause. I didn't do it for myself. Or anyone else.
Wanna know why I did it?
Because I can.
Because I wanted to answer "What if?"
Here I am
- Some kinda four 'o' clock tragedy
- New York, NY, United States
- I am a writer. I believe all engaging writing is a precious balance between aural and visual aesthetic, emotional and intellectual depth. I am an "intense" young man, and I've yet to find someone willing to contest that claim. I am not rated G, nor is my writing. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter."