Edges

2 06 2008

This is what it feels like to be free.

    The steering wheel feels light under my fingertips as I carefully match the curve in the road. It would be so easy to slip, a miscalculation, a too-long glance down at the radio. Possible excuses.

            A barbell suspended above my head wants desperately to return. For a moment, I consider letting it fall, where it might crush my skull, tear indifferently through my brain and lie quietly amidst a greying body and ashen faces.

            Words form in pools inside my brain, the synapses of which are waging war. Some with the engineered desires to survive. Some with consciousness.

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One response

28 06 2008
Matthias

You need to write more often. By that, I also need to write more often.

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