Title Track

Hey everyone, I got into a car crash. I was leaning over to roll up the passenger side window, because my car is old as shit and it has the old school crank mechanism that seems to utilize all your fucking strength just to make it budge a fuckin’ little, while I was making a left hand turn. I was t-boned. I’m really fucked up and internally bleeding and coughing up blood and my head is gashed open. I’m in the hospital right now and there’s blood smeared on my phone while I type this and they have me hooked up to optimus prime. The nurses were adamant about me not using my phone saying I needed to sleep. I asked the nurse, the head nurse (if there’s such a thing), on my team of nurses dedicated to saving my life, to tell me my chances of living. She hesitated and I had to nag it out of her telling her what I waste I am and how I’m not afraid of the truth. She told me it’s 10%. I have a 10% chance to live. My life, like everyone else’s, a monstrous mess of unidentified and unpredictable duration, has been narrowed down to 10%. My life is 10%. I’m 10%. That all I am right now in this moment is 10%. I will either die or not die and it’s a 1:10 ratio. Math comes back, my school teacher’s were right. I’m fairly confident I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow morning so I’m taking the time to apologize to everyone for my shitty attitude on life. I don’t regret my outlook, at all, it’s who I am. I have no regret right now other than that I know it was hard for people to deal with me and I wish I was better at maintaining it. I also love all of you. Even those who wronged me and aren’t sorry. I love you. I wish you the best of life. I wish you that statistics be in your favor and your chances of life are 9:10. My now ex-girlfriend usually keeps her instagram info blank, but today I unfollowed her and she changed it to “Everything was beautiful.”

And it was.




I got the idea of writing this last night while driving to get some pizza.