And still that gnawing absence eats and tears me.
That depression of topography
In liminal time.
That constant self doubt.
The niggling fear of failure.
Self fulfilling prophets.
Revelations horded in secret.

I'm always wandering somewhere else.
With a firm
Desire to run away from everything.
All.
Over.
Again.
I don't want to face another disappointment.
Another bad choice.
A bad memory with a face.

So,
I make none.
And just fade away into the ambience on the radio
Always running forward.
To another town.
Hiding in shadows.
Going unnoticed.

I am a ghost on the highway.
Looking for a ride.

Somewhere that ain't here.