I fill up my car, the churning pump of fuel, my car shaking.
The sky bleeds, soon will drown as the moon rises.
In my eyes an image etched, the expanse of road before me.
Keeping steady, my role a flagpole, the car a flag.
Atlanta is coming up soon, cars near me and getting closer.
Traffic halts and the road becomes a sea of headlights, I groan.
Foot on the brakes, I bide my time, consider honking my horn.
My ears are sore, I turn off the stereo after its fifth loop of songs.
I rehearse conversations I could never have, or already happened.