the lines got fuzzy the faster she went
blending in and out the harder she wept
dashes to solids
solids to blurs
curves became her pausings
mailboxes air-kissed her mirrors
1641 gave way to 148
148 turned right on 2932
country roads are no place to have a breakdown
to the voices in her head
to whatever god may be listening
faded red of the STOP
made her scream out loud
I Hate Being Like This!
I Hate Being The Girl Who's Left!
the good news?
at least she doesn't hate herself.