I am 18 miles from the starting point and my car is made of broken bones and yellow bruises.
The paint is flaking off in all the wrong places and my tongue still hurts when I try to twist it in the shape of you.
I've been trying to get the dirt out from under my fingernails for days now, but there's not a big enough vacuum for me to open all my doors and clean up my insides.
It hurts to miss an exit. It hurts to break too fast but it stings to break too slow. The radio doesn't work anymore and I'm stuck with static where my favorite noises used to be.
I am soaking in my own gasoline and I'm 3 sips of break fluid away from lighting a cigarette - you always thought I wanted to go out with a bang.