september plane to boston

[midnightcowboy]

you don’t seem happy anymore,
yet more bottles of alcohol still lay on the shagged floor, 
moments of clarity from you are thought to have never happened before,
and a moment of still soberness still, behind blue bus doors.

yet you,
you still drive hours inside a truck,
hoping that one night, you’ll get hit or struck, 
hoping that one night, lightning would hit your course, 
hoping that one night, you’ll reach the mile they autopsy your corpse,
 
yet you, you never really had a moment of happiness before? 
Such words can’t be true, such words must be tailored. 
Such words must realize they’re entire existence is some unorthodox-cry-for-attention 
letter.
yet they don’t, fleeting cries of laughter are extended to his name,
“you don’t seem happy anymore” she says, 
he responds with 
“that’s why i’ll happily crash like a September plane”