shebaqueen
calm. wind. windows down. music keeps changing. scenery keeps changing. everyone and everything gone in silent vortex of the bugs hitting the windshield, their--is that blood?--trickling down sickeningly until I have to wash their carcasses unceremoniously off with my wiper blades. it's beautiful, isn't it, the song of motion. perpetual until the dial hits E.
writing since 2011 · 3 entries · 3 days shown up
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