Lose a tire? Tires,
they come and go.
Do you have a grip?
The wheel works, but,
what's the point
if the blue sparks fly?
Some words stuck
well inside this
sternum of mine
just need be said.
What's the point of
you and I, then?
Are we always safe?
What's the point of
this fear of life
when I'll soon be
nothing more than dead?
Hold your eyes, then,
til the heart arrives.
Sparks cannot fill
me up inside with dread.
