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Apr 2020
tire marks left behind on the tracks of thoughts in my head
from racing cars
roundabout thoughts.
putrid acid of burnt rubber stings the eyes and the throat
from clear, untainted tears.
but smoke from sudden friction
sudden spark
ascending into nothingness
the relief of peace.
it is raining outside.
and it trickles into my bloodstream.
coming inside.
the tiny white powdery donuts are gently disintegrating into me
small pelting on the wound on the road
though black tracks remain as evidence of distress
the sting is gone.
so is the heat.
it’s cold now.
and it’s difficult to get rid of the rubber blemish.
and roads are hard to keep clean when reckless drivers exist.
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