Road to Recovery

Gotta drive.
Gotta write.

Gotta breathe.

Gotta scream,

“I’m alive, dammit!”

Wanna hold.

Wanna touch.

Wanna kiss.

Wanna feel.

But can’t let the wall down.

I’ll bleed.

I’ll ache.

I’ll rip.

I’ll retreat—

Have to start the trip over again.

And then I’ll just want to drive…

My hands on the wheel.

My foot on the pedal.

My eyes on the road.

My head saying just how far I’m willing to go.

My decisions.

No radio.

No talking.

No passengers.

No thinking.

J

u

s

t

b

r

e

a

t

h

e

.
I’m alive, dammit.