I'll keep trying 'til it works.

The city lights blur and streak by and I
drive to be alone and listen
to the saddest songs that make me
feel less a fool.

I pull off the road
park in a rest stop
scrawl these lines out,
I guess, for myself.

I write these words out because I'm
too much a coward to cut them in my skin.
I write them on a napkin because it's
poetic. And because bleeding wouldn't do them justice.

Even here among paltry raindrops
and shady overpasses your ghost finds me. I've
always said I would become a trucker if my
life fell to pieces.

That doesn't seem so funny now.
Because at least they can sleep soundly in backseat cabins around me.

I feel a fool for the time I
spent pining over you, yet it's
not pride that restrains my tears but my
damned fool's hope. Foolish optimism. Whatever you call it.

To my dismay even my best friends abandon me now.
My best friends are words. Sad, I know.

But I've left nonetheless and I'll
come back even less sure of why I
keep driving away like this.
I don't dream. But I did yesterday.

It ruined my day. Not because it was a bad dream.
But that only my pillow was close when I
woke. And the realization that in living lies the nightmare.
I've tried my best to lose you.
In vain. Again.

[Keep following. Manly post coming right up.]