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Its so cold to brutally beat blister the skin and the window is down and the wind loves to howl as my hand plays wind strings when the limit has been broken the stormy forecast lies outside and gray more accurate inside a dying squall squeaking into silence asphalt the dry black web we're caught in. Its the radio and the clock with white and black buttons 5 minutes off and overplayed songs discarded as passengers Off theres the black luke warm steering wheel I'm holding tightly you're driving rightly Here is a shoulder untouched a head resting away-outward window way colder the yellow median found discomfort on the road and lept into the car where we are where we were breaking opposites lanes left to pass "what?" We're talking with our ears breathing a lost potency I saw the Exit sign on your face in a gesture distracted from me I still drive straight only faster I hit that yes, maybe, no light its no flight in the end idle time conversating Turn on the radio spin the volume dial loud carelessly hollers can't be heard. Silently seen. its tinted windows and white headlights looking only forward rear view mirrors over our heads Alone. Turn it on and up. theres nothing good on the radio by eternalslacker |