This is not my tradition,
The words I speak no longer mean,
The things I say,
I feel the fire of the engines,
The sudden force upward and downward all at once,
This feeling could tear a man apart,
The atmosphere lies before me one second,
Yet behind me another,
My body is on it's way to find my mind,
But something stronger stops it,
A brilliant light,
A star,
A sun,
A heart,
The universal heart pulls me towards,
As I find myself gravitating towards,
The heart takes over,
My mind echoes through space,
I hear the cries,
But it is to late,
I am a habitual insomniac by instinct,
I lose myself,
Lost a drift,
Days,
Weeks,
Months,
Years,
The poetic comatose has taken my life and soul,
I awaken,
To see not a second has passed,
To see the end,
To see the crash,
The final good-bye,
The doom of a habitual Insomniac