september plane to boston

[hyperviolet]

overall great, but it falls apart grammatically in a few places:

you don’t seem happy anymore,
yet more bottles of alcohol still lay on the shagged floor, 
moments of clarity that still 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 away the days in your inside a truck,
hoping that one night, you’ll get hit or struck, 
hoping that one night, lightning would strike hit your course, 
hoping that one night, you’ll reach the mile ^that they autopsy your corpse,
 
yet you say 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 their entire existence is some unorthodox-crying-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”