Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Illegal Yield

Signs point to slow

but there's grit on the windshield

I can't see


I can't fuckin' drive either.

So it's all relative, yeah?


Waits growls, then Cave lows...

I wake up in the backseat.


What's wrong?

What's wrong?


(it's too quiet, but so damn loud.)



Why the fuck am I here?

Just go back to sleep.

It ain't my car.



Nothing is mine anymore.






(October 8th)

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