life taught me how to die.

a single sentence. a line in a song, falling from the lips of an irish boy strumming on a borrowed guitar. his admirers, hanging on his every word, every note, eager for more. he knows he has charm, he knows with a single wink he can have them begging for his attention, addicted in seconds. and he knows he can have his fun, give them the time of their lives, then leave a trail of destruction and despair in his wake. he doesn't care. all he wants is entertainment, a good time, and no-one will deny him what he does best.

i've seen it before. i see it all the time. it makes me so ... sad. am i the only one who sees? can i do nothing to stop it? why does no-one else do anything? why do they get away with it every time? why is it so accepted?

why?

dancing in circles, wheels spinning, arms flying, voices screaming.
i look up to the ceiling. lights, people, music reflected in the glass against the dark sky. chaos surrounds me, the pain is flooding through my veins, i can't breathe. and yet, i am calm inside. the six words suddenly spring to mind, for reasons im unsure of, and they won't disappear. they're etched on the walls of my mind. i've been waiting for them. in so many ways, they make sense, but every time i grasp a meaning that i can relate to, its slips away.

the lake. the wheels. the friendships. the unforgettable moments that make life worth living. an escape for a weekend was all i had to do, all i needed to find the right words and find myself again.

but you can't escape everything.
the irish boy never sleeps, and neither does his guitar.