The Ride


I got into an old lovers car and never put my seatbelt on. 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 stripped; a prisoner in my own mind.
She dropped me off at the corner of an afterthought. I went out of the blue and into the black. Paid for this but I got that. At first, I didn't know where to go. It was dar, clearing all the cobwebs that remain. So I went everywhere we went, hung on every word she said and said what I knew she wanted to hear. Then the words were like bullets and the 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 my 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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