They say you can't teach a old dog new tricks. Well honey, you kick him enough. He learns. But just remember, sometimes those old dogs bite back.
I'm just a mediocre person living trying to run with the big boys, and I ain't cutting it. Just running place, pretending I know what the hell I'm doing and I don't.
I look in the mirror and think I'm not the space cowboy. I'm the one that fucked up big time and now constantly pays the price. People always breathing down my neck. Screaming, punching or just trying to take what isn't theirs in the first place and sometimes..I just want to let them have it. Get it over with and die. John Crichton died a long time ago. He died when he stepped foot on that shuttle and shot off into the great blue.
I'm just his shadow, his corpse. And one day, I'll remember that I don't have to breathe to move. I stop what I'm doing, fall and never get up again.
There will be no ceremony to mark the passing. No tears in remembrance. Why mourn for something that died years ago?