Kill the headlights.

Am I confined to a looking box in the road?

Feet melted to the pavement, one with the dreary mold while faces peer through the glass

fields of their minds.

I’ll take a bat to that windshield and leave shattered views behind.

Don’t test your theories on me; your ill-based opinions are not the least bit needed.

But I am pasted on this road: an old adhesive, but the glue still boasts its hold.

How can I progress? With each step I take my feet sink deeper into the street and I get

Heaved into the black lake. Waist-deep, the tar calluses around me and my lungs become

Filled with thick concrete.

Breathing purely hasn’t served me best.

But I will not allow myself to suck down every willing poison.

This incorrigible road will encourage me to run through unhindered meadows.