I travel down a dimly lit road, and I'm not sure where it goes but I'm sure I do not want to be followed. I paint the lines in the road black and smash every street light. Upon reaching the other side I decide it's too dark, but **** if I can't find my old road.

I was driving up I95 -- drinking holy spirits with some recently deceased Jesus freak when I looked away.

I heard glass smash.
I felt every bone in my body crack.
I saw all of the light leave my eyes in the back of an ambulance.
I saw a white light -- it said, "Hang tight, everything will be alright." Then asked me something silly like, "Do you know where you are?"

I woke up in my bed in my parents' basement.
I grabbed a page and a pen and I went.
To writing.

I wrote I swear I heard glass smash.
Swear that I felt every bone in my body crack.
Swear I saw all the light leave my eyes in the back of that ambulance.
Swore I saw a white light that said, "Hang tight, everything will be alright." Then asked me something silly like, "Do you know who you are?"

I lay back in bed, and the room starts to spin and I'm back driving I95 again.

I know what's going to happen soon.
I know what's going to happen.
I know what's going.
I know what.
I know I.

I copped some Subutex at a dry rooming house up the road from a run down clinic while waiting in a line a mile long and thought to myself, "These people need to hurry up."

How can I live brain damaged and disfigured like the lights seeping in through the walls don't trigger frightening synesthetic psychoses that exile my mind from the pinnacle of this oasis to the furthest borders of the existential void?