You are selfish, shallow, adrenaline seeking. Blind, short sighted, borderline death seeking.
Thrill catching, leathers matching, fuel flowing, shallow breathing.
The release of control, self preservation is screaming.
Your intrigue for the wild has brought you here. In seeking proximate demise your intentions are clear.
However is there more, to his bottomless hole? More than adrenaline, flight, the search for extol?
Could there be meaning found where reasoning retires? Is there space in this world for simply following desires?
Vast I’m sure is your strength of intrigue. Or fear of what if, what next, what indeed. The roads may be littered, treacherous, packed. But what really matters when all what ifs are sacked?
It’s the smell of the air, the fumes, the tires. Enveloping you whole, until you retire.
No question of when, how or why. No pondering which, what, wondering eyes.
Pure pleasure, indeed, is what we seek. Here and now, not bitter or bleak.
An antidote to chaos, here we have found. Me and my bike, 3 feet from the ground.
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