I got into an old lovers car and never put my seatbelt on.
It felt unnecessary at the time.
It felt vaguely familiar, with a hinge of addiction
that became clear as the smoke blew out of my mouth.
I was dressed in my work uniform; black and white striped;
a prisoner in my own mind.
She dropped my off inside to go to work.
I went out of the blue and into the black.
Paid for this but got that.
At first, I didn't know where to go.
It was dark, clearing all the cobwebs that remain.
So I went everywhere she went, hung on every word she said
and said what I knew what wanted to hear.
Then the words were like bullets and they broke through my skin
and there's no way to get them out.
There's a road to my heart,
trying to find the light inside the dark.
Once I started to find way, we crashed.
My injuries are a state of critical condition.
I bared my soul to discover that I was only finding myself.
Stumbling disoriented without breath;
breathing is a chore without respite.
My addiction was the price I paid. Time is the first stop.
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