No Return Policy

I feel I have to die to see people I won't be able to see.

I have to hope we die, so we're all not so busy.

I have to believe in the sentence: "People come and go in your life."

As I know most people I respect, walk out, to never return twice.

I feel defeated.

I feel the wrath of whiskey and beer, and the sweat of the brow.

I feel I am headed toward an asylum adventure with a no return policy...

I feel I am merely existing in a world of notes in someone else's lullaby.

I feel without its tune, nothing I am is infinite.

Existence is a flagrant pawn to my movement.

I feel betwixt absence and its community. 

A legend and myth as a ghost of my past.

I feel yesterday's endurance, is tomorrow's fatigue.

I feel all houses and doormats that say; "Welcome." really are not.

I feel when someone wishes you good luck in life, your future, and your health...

Is an arrivederci unspoken, one giant: "Go Fuck Yourself!"