I don't want to be here, to be going there,
by myself this time, this road this time,
all by myself on this road.
The thought stiffens my limbs.
This familiarity is uncomfortable.
Signs and stores and sidewalks.
You know me all too well, I say,
turning right and
hoping
this road is not as long as I remember.
Things start to look foreign
and one fear replaces another.
I don't want to be here.
Here, this scar that bled,
when the world scratched me open.
It bled compulsions and passions,
anxieties and catastrophes.
It never really healed and now
I'm picking at it
losing momentum on the hill,
the phone in my hand the panic in my voice
hoping
you will not remember me as
well as I remember you,
this road, this time,
all by myself on this road. |
Submission Name: Auburn
