I’m cruising up
And down Life St.
On auto-pilot mode
Sometimes, the music blares
From my souped-up amp
Then silence
As the world
Tumbles,
Twists,
Turns.

I gain control
And shift my gears.
Fast I fly to the
Promised land
Yet my tank dries up
And the controls freeze
The city lights grow
Dim,
Dark,
Dead.

The auto-pilot
Greets me once more
As it takes over
And I sink into a stupor.
Hazy fumes of
Uncertainty
And my mind goes
Bleak,
Blank,
Brain-dead.

I can’t really tell
When I am coming back
Or if ever I am coming back
At all.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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