My guardian angel takes the wheel when a sad song
shuffles from my iPod to my car stereo speakers
then fills the space inside until I am paralyzed
with beats and lyrics from a former lover who said
His songs were about me

My guardian angel presses my foot to the break
before the melody drives me into anything solid
a desperate attempt to crash my mind filled with these
memories of him that demean my existence because
His songs were never about me

My guardian angel kills the battery of my iPod
and shuffles me a song of nature outside my window
as if to remind me I am no longer confined
to a definitive space, an isolating factor- to a car, to a man,
*Or to his songs