Night, she doesn't flinch
That engine she's heard before.
Moving in this darkness as my fingers used to run through her hair.
Night's cold back echo's my engine as she sleeps.
Neglecting my rage and loud music as I shift into 5th.
The wind whipping the car like running through tall razor grass.
Again, I'm on the run.
Where?...this time
Anywhere but here...just like the last time
Anywhere from her...just like the last one
Torment at 95...on 95
I know I just need distance right now
The dark night, her hair on my chest, all the same now
seem to still wrap around me
I run away from her face but all I see...is...her face.
One hand on the wheel the other on the shifter
Gripped tight to affirm my decision
But they may as well be her body
As each passing highway sign still reflects her face.
Faster, dodging cars and 18 wheelers
hoping to outrun my mind
Hoping to outrun her.
Telling myself that I can love again
Telling myself I can spark anew
But each time a new face comes close
All I want to do is turn and run.
MG
I need to fix her.
Her broken body, heart and mind piled at my feet like a dump truck that just left.
Broken pieces rolling off the mound of what was.
Her dust reaching for my shirt, my face, crawling up my nose.
I need to fix her.
I kneel down and start to sift
Broken screws and pieces of wood
Ripped bandages with dry blood
I find 4 bolts but 3 nuts
3 corners but 4 brackets, nothing matches anymore.
I need to fix her.
Eyes rusted shut from years of tears
As I swiped her dark hair from her face
Only her right cheek showed what's left of her innocence
I need to fix her.
Her pile laid there, the discarded heap
A position she seemed all too familiar with
While a slight wind moved pieces of her tattered black clothing
And her silence crying in my ear.
I need to fix her.
Scooped up like a pile of dirty clothes
I bring her inside and lay her on the table
Eyeing my toolbox and flipping on the light
I need to fix her.
Her mind: dead, her heart: dead her soul: dead
I reach for my toolbox
My broken hammer and rusted off screwdrivers
Perfect for the fix, I start to clean her other cheek
I need to fix her.
This Frankenstein built by the scourge of men
Now my charge to raise from the dead.
Maybe no one will want her
But she will be alive
Only time will tell what she will become...again.
