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Mar 2019
it's nights like these that i want
nothing more than to grip the wheel
of the suv that i don't pay for
forget the complacency of life in
this 1000 square foot cage
or the smaller cage
the one my bones made for me
the one that's never small enough

--she relies on me, you say
but when it's quiet my minds eye is lazy
diaphanous and turned inward.
untoward numbers
irreparable mistakes
the harsh slap of brevity
mirrored in the wet pavement

i see myself in it's penumbra.
i see myself in the windshields of the passing cars
their scintillating headlights
as addicting as the sharp inhale of our morning cigarettes
a slicing denouement to my woes.

--it's all i can do but not to turn the wheel
to do so would be evocative
(yet ineffable)--
but the excitement is ephemeral
as my minds eye blinks open
and yet again i am filled with ennui.
and yet again i turn off the ignition.
sorry for being me
Written by
brea  Somewhere
(Somewhere)   
138
     Jules and ---
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