"Going Home?"
The heat of my tires
Was the blood on my hands
The honest words
Were the smoking gun
The alone I desired
Only garnered suspicion
The friend who was girl
Could only be one
The thoughtful intent
Had sinister motives
The justifications
Could only be snide
The tries for dissent
Were colored as callous
For I had a friend
that I offered a ride
This poem is about:
Me