Reading Bunk's journal

He raced. Faster faster. Ah fuck what have I done. Why why why, I had one chance, a thousand times I think of it now. So many times I had forgotten what could be for the security of the present. Goodbye was all; no, that’s all. You know. You think it. What what what should I do thinking for the moments that fall then bam you’re there and what’s there? Nothing. then he takes over . Slowly rising up in your chest. Into your throat. Coursing through your breath shortened hands shake power. So powerful. A though so pure. So plain. A thousand fucking times. Over and over in my mind. Like madness. Is madness always angry I ask? Not at all I answer. It’s the weight. Heavy. Crushing. A pull on your soul dragging you down yet so slow and so calm that when you fight you have nothing a cruel so very silent madness. And then you are nothing. His breathing is heavy. The bomb that wastes both user and target. A sad little whine. Not any more. Why did it have to get like this. Expectation. The ending. Why is each beginning an end, another sigh. No more no more no more. A quiet death, or a loud one. It’s blame. Who do you blame? A switch. On or off. No or not really no. Rejection or silence. They stand and tell me. Explain it. So smart. They know. They know me. Funny. They feel my pain. Liars fuck them all. Why do they lie? Bombed. Dreams hope love; lost. They see it. Smell it. It excites them. Power. Greed. Why? That’s who we are. Nothing. Dust. Eating the world for lunch. They tell you: why, how, who, what. Why they’re right. How you’re wrong. Who’s fault. What to do. Isn’t that enough. Isn’t that enough. In me. Out of me. Forever is a cruel hammer to kill a child. Fear doubt silence death, a victory for them. Nothing remains. A sigh and you’re gone lost. A loss. Nothing. Dust No. I can’t. I can’t. Is there something left? Is there a final ounce? You pull the trigger. click now it’s their turn. Choke on it. Be disgusted. Be shocked. Cry. Burn. It’s your fault you fuckers. I’ll make you see. My gift. The fist pounds. Violence anger scream kill death.

I win.

The fire burned behind him, the blood dripping from his hands.

But I can't find no place or nothin', where thrills are cheap, and love is divine