I turn 25 on December 9th.

That's my number.

Either something great happens.

Or Death drowns me in a pond of Monster Energy Drink.

Which do you think it will be?

Some motherfuckers

Had a dream in a movie theater set at the edge of a massive mall. Smoke grenades went off. Gunmen appear on the second floor before the exit. They open fire.

Everyone runs. I'm shot at–but I might make it through. More gunmen appear, and I'm screwed. I continue to run even as bullets tear into me.

It's outside. Helicopters land. I decide to live even though its impossible. I rush the troops. They barely acknowledge me. Medical supplies are thing.

I'm treated like I'm already dead.

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Hell, once one has become comfortable, is sometimes hard to leave.