I wrote this story so many days ago, and the words
kept falling onto pages. Without the loss we can't
go on, and with the loss we became strong. It's
how it is, as we stare it down. Oh my god do I
think that this is the end of everything. When
everything inside wants me to feel like this is
normal. And in the quiet, the silence screams
aloud. And the panic resides along our inners. And
with the tragedy we go, pushing the hell so far
below. Desperate hands cover my face. So stay calm
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if we are we'll be prepared for action. This is
how it's supposed to be. Somebody better call a
doctor. And maybe this could be the end of
everything that we want. Don't panic. And from a
distance it seems that the water will wash panic
away. Oh my lord, believe. There's no need for
emergency, but in case there is, distract it. If
this is the great descent, I won't be running for
the exits.