My inner mirror says that I’m nineteen.
I like to think that Life’s a piece of cake.
My ego drives me like a limousine.
Low self-esteem keeps stepping on the brake.
My fears are quaking in the shotgun seat.
My lust is in the trunk, ballgagged and bound.
No matter where I stop or who I meet,
I wind up swimming where my old self drowned.
There’s only one road and it can deliver
A man to heaven or the calaboose.
It’s caked and dusty, like a dried-up river,
And twines around this country like a noose.
I feed the engine that keeps me alive.
My dream is down the road, so I just drive.
Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells