Tires tire of holding on.
The roughness of the road scratches them.
But never shredded.
Pain without loss.

I could pull on the wheel
And send everything sidewards.
Finally lie down and relax.

Hoping fuel drains out.
The road drains you.
Instinct prevails
As the indicator becomes
More and more aggravating.
Find myself driving into a petrol station,
Unconscious driving.

It’s a straight road.
Seems easy but you’re out of it.
If a bend were to come,
I’m too intoxicated by inaction
To steer the wheel.
Scrape against the side,
Grazed and bruised
But back on track.
Forced around corners without slowing down.

Never break down.
The dealership said that
And I repeat it to myself over and over.
And never do.

ETA delayed.
Again.