All I do is sit now,
stuck in this seat on my rides
between Anger to Anguish.
I make the roundtrips all day
and all night, never getting off,
barely looking at the dreary scenery,
only staring straight ahead at nothing,
even if something is there before me.
I’ve been making this trip
for almost a year, from one emotion
to the other, my mind mired in ruts
so deep I can’t think above them.
Mud spatters the windows anyway,
so up and down the dictionary page
that’s become the map of my life
leaves me only one other destination –
Sorry. Best I can do right now.