I always hated going under it in the middle of the day. It felt like a mirror; a reflected isomer — too still and too sad to be near. Shadows give that same feeling, but with blurred corners feeling slightly farther away.
I prefer going under the bridge at night. Cooler, like sunglasses that you don’t have to put on. The night as a way of saying, “It’s not up to you what you get to see now. I decide what’s important for you. Which is absolutely nothing”.
blur of rock, snow, trees I drift in and out of reality dream of swimming alone at night, the sweet danger your hand on my leg
this highway becomes endless motion reach into the grey night beg a cigarette off the gypsy woman desperate addictions will destroy me one day, nothing left to do but wait for the next stop watch your breath form halos of precious air on the window misty and cool hey, beautiful stranger could I rescue you from sleep, your hand on my leg feels like nothing else but it won't last
the driver speaks to me of wandering souls in a few hours he promises we'll be somewhere