Finding Headlights

She has a full tank of gas, but she's running out of time.

Clutching the wheel, feeling the cancerous tumor of fear spread and creep through every cell and pore, she knows that. Her fingers hastily reach for keys she knows are there, kept safe in a dark pocket away from prying eyes. The key to her cell.

But oh, to undo the lock!

A cell of wordly contraption, interweaving and casting shadows into the far shore of her sight, she trembles, watching colors and light fade away bit by bit. Reaching up to a peak, enclosing around her in a world of black, hollow, bereft and melancholy.

She has a tank full of gas, but she's running out of time.

Taking steadying breaths of no affect, she trembles on the ignition. Eyes hollowed out long ago stare into the forewarning abyss, unrelenting in an acute silence. It pounds in her ears, drowning out her own heartbeat and shaking. Drowning out her resolve.

But oh, to undo the lock!

A path unknown to her, a road blocked by discouragement and judgement. A path that may very well not exist. A road that may very well be impossible to traverse.

She stills. Reaches for ignition.

The headlights turn on.

This poem is about: 
Me

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