"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

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