Falling

Darling, you were made to fail. Your whole life has been a flight down, like you were waiting for the collision with the pavement. You knew it was going to come, and you decided to enjoy the fall. You called it "a flight towards nothingness" and in the early hours of the morning, while watching blood taint the sky, you waited and wondered about that final moment. You said your flight would be short and sweet, and your demise symbolic of the beautiful mess that was your life.

I’m not in love with you, but you fascinate me. And I’ve always been a sucker for things that manage to catch my attention and retain it. You’re the angel that never stopped fallin, the one who enjoying the sinful ride. And I’m nothing more than a spectator. Always with a cigarette between my fingers and a drink at hand, a malicious sneer caressing my lips as I watch you crash and burn. You’re another inspiration, another one that feeds my pages and keeps me awake at night by simply staring at my ceiling while I write or read.

I won’t miss you when you’re gone. Your kind is rare but they always find their way to me, like the gods have ensured my suply long before I realised I needed it. Looking at you now, laughing like you’ve forgotten that the pavement is closer and closer by the second, I can’t help but feel that there’s nothing more sublime than tragedy. And then I forget the thought as my attention is captured by the lyrics of another song.