Do they die with us?
What happens when we are buried? Are our stories forgotten? Do they go untold?
What of these lies, these rants, these exaggerations….told in the night, half-crazed, maybe the “send” button has been pressed too soon in anger….
Well, those young girls, the ones that come begging for help, they are just nuts anyway. They don’t get what they ask for.
Someday, the doors will be unlocked.
It will not be in my lifetime, folks. Maybe I’ve got a dream.