Your taillights
have grown dim in the distance
and I can't get up to speed
It feels like a dream
but the quiet gives way
to the sound of engines sucking air
and the unnerving knowledge
that I'm running on empty
Did you burst my bubble
or did I do it myself?
For once in my life
I don't care to answer
this ongoing inquisition
The questions have become monsters
the answers have become burdens
and I have become the scapegoat
Surely,
I haven't wrought all of this
How can one man
hate himself so much?
Now I see that
you've turned off my road forever
Am I lonelier?
My hands will take the violence
they've been taught
and they will inflict it inward
always inward
until my patience turns to blackness
and my hope the color of murder
There will be those who wonder
who did this to me
but I just wonder
when it's going to end.
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some of the imagery makes me think of last night's movie, what with the roads and driving and old, beat-up bodies.
ReplyDeleteGood call. I think cars make good metaphors.
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