Who calls the shots when it comes to destination? 

 What rockets your fuel, or wheels your spin?

 Some time ago, when I first flew out here, the sky was clear like a glass of wine.  Dark, but at the same time, shiny, brand-new, and forbidding.  Somehow I let all of the outer details of my surroundings cloud my judgement and without proper consideration or thought, I jumped away to the marvelous idea of "self creation".  I have no idea what that means.  I am not what I intended to create, I have not created what I intended to be.  Vicious cycle if you ask me, but then again, that's the one thing I've always been good at, running in circles.

  So fuck it, life is grand, and all my plans are shit.  Mouth has said that love is dumb, but heart has asked for a re-evaluation of thought, because last night, mind took a gun and shot itself.  A defiance to the constant bickering of conciousness meddling in on everybody's buisnesss.   So, here, as I am, hypocrite, mindless, and romantic, I make a vow to trip and stand up victorious. 

  Sword in hand, cape flowing victory is my new image.  Let the dreams come back and take me down to earth, for reality has only blown me away into nothingness, to the boundless empty silence of space.

 The space people found me, and gave me a ticket back home.