In wind storms, the wheel steers the car on top of my bones, scrapes it's tires up my skin, and I can feel the engine running in my stomach, I can't stop shaking my damn leg. On this mission to convince myself that the wires connecting me to you are stronger than the strands of hair that fall off of my scalp.
The only thing I can feel is the metal spitting fumes into my ribs and even though I'm screaming out that this dust is blinding me, I cannot prove to be loud enough.
No body in the drivers seat, just conflicted notions, steering it's tires up my skin.
