Saddling the yellow lines at 95,
Hostage to the late-night drives.
Drowning in the thoughts that ask when I might die?
And if I die tonight, did I satisfy the world that hangs me out to dry?
Staying up most nights, wishing someone would call and ask:
"Are you alright?”, “How you been?”, “What's on your mind?"
I still can't testify that I am fine.



Friday 15 March 2024