Living as a Junkyard Car


So horrible at communication.

This I know.

Yet, I found it the safest way to go.

The trappings of loving another…

Nothing but a graying destiny for a languishing mind.

My state of hibernation…

A junkyard car.

Scrap metal missing banner days.

Scratched, dented and out of gas.

Living in the accident of someone last gaspimageedit_86_2660408772.

My only sense of security…

A junkyard dog ambivalent to my past.

On flat tires I take no prisoners.

Propped up on cinder-blocks.

There are no chance for encounters.

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