kalischild

I'm getting a motorcycle in seven days.

And strangely, it's filling me with weird.

And even stranger, it's not for the common reasons; it's not for any of the reasons I've already chosen to laughingly ignore

It's because I'm lonely. I'm very fucking lonely.

I really believe that before you buy a motorcycle, you need to ask yourself if you're ready to die.

Not to be morbid, or anything.

But we know too many names that only mean memories now. Too many wrecks, too many wakes, too many tears in the whisky.

I think, before you decide to throw that vicious bitch between your legs you need to know if you're really ready to go down.

And I'm not; not today. And this is what gives me pause.

I remember the the first time I wrecked my bike; as I went down, I had time. I had all the time in the world as I arced towards the ground spinning, to ask myself if I was ready to die.

And that day was a glorious day. I can still feel the fire I felt in my heart in that moment; the moment when I heard myself answer the question of whether or not I was done.

Because in that moment, when the bars slammed into my thighs, as the world went up, and came down; as the grey concrete came up to slap me like the Hand of God; before the Black River washed over me, and before I even knew if I'd ever wake up again, I let out the fiercest scream of triumph I ever have.

That wreck was better than sex.

Because as I fell, I knew in the most visceral way I'd ever known that I had lived fierce, and hard, and bright. That I had left behind few things left undone, and fewer regrets.

Nothing like going out a winner.

But not today, not like this.

I've got these scars on my wrists and my knuckles.

I go out drunk and come home bloody and fuckall bored.

I have an anger deep inside I can't even name.

I'm sadder than I've ever been with no clue as to why.

I fell from heaven a while ago, but the fucked thing is that even heaven wasn't all that.

I've been on a hundred highways at night, without you. Alone in the dark wrapped around some vicious, wrecked bitch brought here for my pleasure all the way from Japan. And the one thing I learned in Arizona, and Utah, Nevada and New Mexico is that at night, every highway becomes a Black River.

I'm far from done. I don't want to go down that river wanting what I can't have. I don't want to ride it loving someone I can't love. I don't want to ride the river and realize I have nowhere to go.

I am far from done, and I wonder If I'm going to make it.