Pulled over on the side of the road,
watching the other cars speed past me.
I count at least three going over the
speed limit, but they don't get pulled over.
My knuckles are white, still
gripping the steering wheel.
I haven't turned my car off yet.
Should I turn my hazard lights on?
There had to be a reason I had to pull over.
I didn't even have the decency to find
a parking lot or bide my time at a drive-thru
and needlessly buy some greasy combo meal.
I can't stay here for long.
With my luck, I'd catch the attention of the police.
I need to get back on the road and find somewhere else.
But I don't let myself leave the shoulder.
Pre-determined by the Fates,
a slight shiver of sadness spills from my eyes.
My right one for some reason.
It leaves a dark mark on my jeans.
Another teardrop escapes from my eyes.
The left eye dropped its guard.
Such a traitor.
I'm cursed with being emotional in private,
stowing it away like a book on an overcrowded shelf.
So many volumes I've collected.
YOU ARE READING
Caffeine and Me
PoésieA collection of poetry ranging from brain farts to exploring why I bother getting up in the morning. Most likely there is some form of caffeine to keep me awake (or alert) enough to type my thoughts out regarding my depression, struggles within my d...
