i was two leonard cohen albums and three cigarettes in.
the night was falling in ribbons around me
and my empty passenger seat.

the windows were gracious,
hosting an onslaught of wind
that carved at the cool, contained
nature of my hair.

i was lost.

there was no meaning in the pavement
my tires demeaned at high speeds,
though i wanted there to be.

i took up two lanes,
as i fumbled the lighter.
i attempted to light the fourth,
only to find the fluid was far gone.

i felt just as worthwhile as the unlit
cigarette,
and cohen's phony sentiment.

driving pointlessly into the darkness.
looking for meaning that would
cling to me.

i wanted individual soul.

a holy moment where you know your life stands for beauty.
a holy moment where you aren't thinking about
***,
cigarettes,
ex-girlfriends,
and parental expectations.

i put on swordfishtrombones,
let mr.waits howl as my cancerous thoughts
ate away at my remaining humanity.

just night.
just a lonely interstate
with an empty passenger seat.