by Sophia V., 18
Most nights,
I am there
fighting the rain.
Windshield wipers
as boxing gloves.
Headlights
as a most menacing glower.
Most nights,
I am there—
angry
while the torrential chaos
persists as the pestle
to the aggrieved mortar
of the steel exterior,
while the rubber tires
slip and slide
beneath the rumbling ire of my gears.
Most nights,
I am there.
Aggravation squints,
the blackest crow
carves its feet
in the corners of my eyes.
Yet tonight,
somehow I am here
finding solace in the storm.
In my obscured vision,
in the absolute of its blurred outlines.
The world is nothing more—
existing no further
than the two inches ahead.
Yet tonight,
somehow I am here.
Passionately consumed
in an illusion
that I am not the only thing
misshapen,
the only thing
unclear.
Unknowing that it takes a deluge
to shroud my incompletion,
to deafen the pulse of my
Insanity.
St. Petersburg, Florida
Bridge Ink 