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Nov 2018
How many miles left?
Can my tires make it, or have they corded out already?
Am I driving on rims?
Move, please I beg of you, get me there. Take me back where I was when I felt something other than this hollow emptiness that now echoes my marbled halls.
You sputter with one last puff of black smoke. I rest my head on the steering wheel, realizing this Rube Goldberg device stopped working long ago.
I don't care to lift the hood and diagnosis the issue, finding a remedy for your fluctuation.
So I'll just leave you here, with a white t-shirt in the window, but I'm not coming back.
I'm growing, you've stopped. I'm leaving, you're not.
Broadsky
Written by
Broadsky  earth
(earth)   
491
   Fawn
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