sometimes, on the drive home
you almost believe
you can be good again
and your heart swells
pushing aside your lungs
that once carried the air
that “it’s over” danced on
giving less space for your stomach
that eats alone now
pumping blood like never before
to the limbs that packed your boxes
giving all of its oxygen
to the brain that thought
“I don’t think I can do this anymore”
fueling the eyes
that watched you beg and scream
please.
don’t do this.
sometimes, on the drive home
you almost believe you could deserve it
then you slide your key into the front door
and open it to the empty
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 5:44 AM UTC
sometimes, on the drive home
you almost believe
you can be good again
and your heart swells
pushing aside your lungs
that once carried the air
that “it’s over” danced on
giving less space for your stomach
that eats alone now
pumping blood like never before
to the limbs that packed your boxes
giving all of its oxygen
to the brain that thought
“I don’t think I can do this anymore”
fueling the eyes
that watched you beg and scream
please.
don’t do this.
sometimes, on the drive home
you almost believe you could deserve it
then you slide your key into the front door
and open it to the empty