Monday, February 16, 2009

Driving

The guitar strings like razors across my bare stomach
The call of the open road, that sweet black asphalt
Tantalizing with the possibility of an impact
As deadly as the one I'm in now
Because that’s what I'm searching for
The possibility of something as damaged as me
Dreams of broken glass, twisted metal, blood on hot cement
But is that enough to make me feel whole again?

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