and I wanted to say these forty bucks could be it. I want to jump and see what it feels like and what free fall is but it doesn’t work like that. you can’t get a preview of death. I guess I wanted to see, and even hoped, that maybe I would gain some grand realization from being hundreds of feet from the ground, jumping headfirst. I wanted to see if it could stir such a terror inside of me— that these thoughts would disintegrate into ashes of old silly past times
and I wanted to run back to the ticket booth and wave my forty dollars in the air, take me, take me
tagged as: writing. spilled ink. prose. rejects corner. lit.