I cannot afford another broken heart.
I have set this beaten old car on auto,
Shut the windows to lock me up in my own little box,
Everything outside is separate, distant,
Like an out of body experience.
I drive through a storm, and inside plays elevator music.
The trees on the side of the road cannot touch me.
I could crash now, not feel a thing,
Death is alluring, intriguing.
Fascination holds my empty shell.
There is fractured glass all over the road,
The real world has exploded into my little bubble,
Bent metal scraping on bitumen.
Is that my bloodied hand on the bonnet?
Two voices are calling my name, one screaming, one enchanting.
Memory fades, consciousness slips into endless dreams.
Swing the wheel, but why doesn't that hand move?
The corner of my eyes tickle with unshed and unsheddable tears.
The windscreen wipers cannot fill the job. Alone.
The silent raging of the storm beneath the music,
The hard copy is lost eternal in a world of bytes,
But it is better than broken.
