One hand gripping the wheel,
one poised against my head,
for hours now (truthfully, for days)
reliving her reaction, what she said
and my thoughts surrounding
what now seems an illusion.
Who was I when I did those things,
or who I said I was,
or did I even wish to believe
or feel what I know to be
a proper response?
And my headlights cleave the night
as I retrace a journey,
maybe retreat to where I am from
as I seek the places I will be from.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment