Detour

Somewhere along the highway, I open the door and jump off.. That car becomes an object of the past, dissolves in the horizon..

I tumble, roll, bounce.. It's an uncalculated physics equation that simply equals to pain..

The cement.. it is not forgiving.. It's warm, like an embrace though..

Then it burns.. the cement burns.. the scars..

They are my palette as I draw the guidelines of my self-submitted agony..

I stand high.. No crossroads to detour from the past or the future..

I sit down.. No hope to pick me up and drive me away..

I was trapped here because I wanted to in the first place..

But I didn't know then, that the sun was this poignant..

I was tricked by the soothing air in the car..

The rays were blocked by my shattered glass..

Here I was, with nothing to hold onto but my warm scars..