I was drowning
in the passenger seat;
the road ahead
was flooded
no less,
and the
night above
bled out light
like a thatched roof
dressed with war wounds.

That storm we found ourselves in
was a peculiar one;
all my clothes were drenched
much were yours, I guess,
steering the wheel as you did.

The city was just so beautiful
on that night;
if only we could been there instead:
dancing and laughing, as we would.
We were far enough away
that it could have had its own
seatbelt on, sat besides me,
being thrown left to right
by all this
solemn debate.

"Everything will be alright."
the man on the radio sang,
...will it?

i need to stop
setting myself on fire
to keep you warm.