The Thrill Never Dies.

Is every day the past and future in reverse?

Today I’ll think of what did, could, and will. I pay with what I spill. Blood, sweat, tears, or children. On the pavement or bedroom floor.

I’m learning to be fluid; releasing things I don’t want before they’re stolen.

At some point, when I can’t make no more, being happy with loss makes me wanna take yours.

I receive on the humble, palms open and outstretched. But giving back makes me clench. My mind chases the wrong excess. Now I’m drowning in what I spilled. I can’t get over the thrill.

It's the only feeling I can legally chase. Don’t screw up today, being stuck on yesterday.