Lying in the back of my car, alone, full of despair and a shuffling loss of direction
I wonder what it all meant
what it was worth, what it was for and if this life could ever provide the means
to jolt my heart back into beating.
Driving down the highway at midnight in a foreign state with a trunk full of weed
eyes full of exhaustion and a heart full of longing
I expected more.
Somewhere between Minnesota and Wyoming I realized I can't get over you.
I guess I can admit that out of earshot of you
Seems you'll be out of earshot from now on.
I try to tell myself your dead because I think it'd almost be easier
than knowing you're somewhere out there with someone else while I'm lying here
in the back of my car
I want to go home
A very sad love poem from you here that hits hard.
As difficult as it might be to read, the bit about preferring they were dead is so true so often, isn't it? At least there is closure and not the endless wondering about what they are doing and (worse) as you allude to, who they are with.