White Line Fever

One more string of generic

hotel rooms in the fabric

of my life.

Another tale to tack on

to the miles of stories gone

before it.

Still an old coffee shop,

same as the last one i saw,

a piece back down the road...

So this is why i live,

and this is how i die.

How many people do i

unwillingly make cry...

My road, on and on it goes,

where it ends no one knows.

Back and forth and up and down,

but i'll always be around.

Another hundred thousand or so,

white line fever on

rural roads....

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.