Sunday Drive

My mind is racing.
I’m trying to think of the perfect thing to say,
and I’m convinced that it won’t be worth hearing,
so I sit in an uncomfortable silence.

Lightning lighting up the dark horizon into witch I’m driving.
Wiper blades continue to wash away God’s latest grace.
The howling wind tells me the storm is moving west.
I’m adjusting my speed on this open highway only to keep the pace.

My fist are clinching.
I’ve become a white knuckled steering wheel driver,
wondering where I will end up on this given Sunday.
This anticipation will be the death of me.

Praying that I can make it until the morning light.
The gas in the tank and my wallet are both running empty tonight,
but the laughing rear-view mirror confirms I’m still going,
So there is no telling how far I’ll make it or if I’ll be all right

My heart is pounding.
But never have I felt more calm.
Because I past the last exit miles ago,
and I’m never coming back home.

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