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Cool wind
No substitutes
Warmth deficit
Scent of failure
Fooling oneself
Believing it is real

The fight went on much too long. Taste of victory always just beyond the next rise. The terrain was unforgiving. You created it yourself. It was never long before the dawn. Creeping towards yourself you read the alarm clock in your mind. You refused to wake up. The dream told you of a beacon. You waited for the flash of light. It did not tell you the answer. Sometimes surrender was more a time out. The rest area on the highway of your life was covered in flowers. They died when you touched them. You had to drive on.

Cold rain
Nothing you could do
Nothing mattered
Dabbling in failure
Sense of excess
Elusive control

Things at both ends of the road made a crude sort of sense to you. Wherever you were made the least amount of sense in the light of the moment. Clouds passsed quicker than the sun and ideas never boiled themselves into fruition. You could have bailed out of the lead car. You might have considered standing alone on the caboose. You resisted victory and settled. This made it easier. It let you stop fighting. You absorbed yourself in the ecstasy of apathy.

Empty dreams
Always waking
No one was counting
Records so incomplete
Driving alone
The road is a cold shoulder

You remember how you loved and how you laughed. You remember her smile when she watched you in the morning. There was a pale expression on the passage of time. No one expected the moments to pass so quickly. There was another destination. No one expected you to park there so long. That might have hardened the path. There was never enough water to keep your eyes focused. Everything blurred before it passed. You kneeled in the deep end and rose out of the shallows. Everything took flight. You were still grounded.

Empty promises
Not meant for keeping
You stopped hoping
No one answers anymore
Still alive is enough
The highway is all lights and no names

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