The other day I was sitting at the bus stop, no particular reason, in a James Dean pose, like the one that used to be in my bedroom. A cigarette all to carelessly hung from my lips. Daydreaming; much like he must've everytime he took a picture.

Ya know it's funny how everyone I've ever looked up to died before I ever got a chance to really know them. Maybe I will too, and someone else will be writing this same melancholy; the sky like frothy water above them, wondering what tomorrow brings.

Jesus, do any of us know?

"But I swear that I don't have a gun."
-Kurt Cobain

Yes
No
Do nothing