driving home at midnight my eyes follow roads i’ve never been down before.
like even my organs dont want to be close to this.
from the outside, wholly from the outside, i am content. but what is eating me, wholly from within? i am not free, i am not even at war. i am just blank, pretending to listen and laughing where the silence allows it. i thumb pages; kissing marlboros and a bottle’s neck.
i still wonder what you had written about me.
