Back row torn, penetrated, yet warm
Butts and lit butts pressed against it.
Circular limbs transport my clients.
Curved triangle, scythe, ends the ride.

Behind a circle sits the controller,
abusing the engine, my heart, me.
Each passenger, client, friend, family,
hurts, helps, hinders, never ending well.

A big metal box recycles me.
My corpse gives birth to another,
so another controller may ride me.
Never ending, since model T, I roll.