listen to it
static stuck in broken car radios
ever growing
in a screaming match with white noise
burned off the freeway beneath us
it's all very... deafening
with its pounding in my skull
it makes my overcrowded fingernails
dig into the leather of the steering wheel
and my foot press harder down on the pedal
to the left
because what if i just stopped
on the middle of the I-10
to try and breathe
for a few of the slightly less paralyzing
seconds of atmosphere jam packed
between an army of "the american dream"
there's a plastic straw in place of my trachea
and im gulping a 52 ounce of petrol scented oxygen
and i'm debating just how far under the speed limit i can go
birds are infinite
those from passing bmws and feathered fiends on high wires alike
i question whether im actually driving at all
whether the car is even in motion
because in all honestly
i don't know where im going
im just mournfully limping
dragging a dead carcass of my emotional self
across state lines
because id give anything not to be here
i am running on empty
in this car
and in this life
sticking sunburned elbows out open windows
and getting a chapped face from passing hot air
but i am still moving
i think
seatbelt unbuckled
static pouring out my radio speakers
sunglasses crooked and sliding down my nose
hand on the shift, aching to move it into park
wanting nothing more than to move
but so low on fumes
i don't know how long it will take
to reach a destination
that is not here.
to the desert we go.
at the rate of which
you think of me
which unfortunately is the icy pace
at which
i desire my breathing to be
A/N: how exhausting it all can be. i wish i was back home. but that is long gone. and it feels like it will never come back.
