It'll hold.

Floating through the apple-green clouds, an airplane visits my conscience.
As it passes by me, it waves and a knife flies against one of the small, rounded windows as (even from far outside the airplane) even I can hear a blood-curdling scream echoing through the nightly, light sky and that scream penetrates my bones
(bones)
I soar further as I recall the memories and see them colonize my mind yet again, again, all over again.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, I shake in my parachute, the motor churns with pure energy and I recall again and I smile as I recall again, again, all over again.