Hood

An ordinary person would think because of the blue sky's and drawn up smiles with broken crayons that its all good under the hood. It may seems that way only because they forget to check under that hood and see if motorized vehicle filled with fuel of doubt needs its oil changed every once and a while. see this vehicle traveled many miles on E, Enslaved to thinking that one day that gas tank can meet its predecessor, the letter F free, the man, never wanted nor needed such a blasphemy of an offering from the Gods, Never respected the geometrical figure of glory presented, it may not be the best but it runs

      On the rode this vehicle meets an interstate labeling trials and tribulations, this vehicle had two options face what lies ahead or head home, as it desides that its going to enter knowing that their may be tacks of deception the road denial paved rocks on turns and lustful storms on straightaways it remembers "what's faith without hard work", as it lets out exhaust fumes of courage it pushes through, meeting  deception in a head on collision, quitting would be like grandmothers homemade cookies at this point, but this vehicle has found enough gas  to wage a rebellion and overthrow this tyranny, leaving a trail hope in its rear view, the vehicle spots a turn ahead, rocks of denial seems to be then next trail, speed limit is 60 but just to be safe it cruses at 55, far off seeing it's insecurities  on street signs and billboards a sudden depression covered this vehicle greater than stock markets crash of 1929, see this vehicle started having flashbacks off bad decisions pealing its summer red paint job, the mask that covers and holds the key to its shame, and yet they still think everything's good under the hood, the final trial is up ahead but the exit to this praised gas station also lies up ahead which brings on the question "Is this pain worth it" look at this reject of an object, passed around as if it was communion, never had a real home, and yet has enough horse power to battle the drastic conditions on the interstate, along the straight away this object hears thunderous whispers saying turn back, you won't make it, then notices headlights of subduction lingering in the fog behind, see this vehicle knows that this is the last trial but overwhelmed by the thought that it was worthy enough to be approached in such a manner it challenges fate, the conversation went as they all do name, purpose, place etc, then abusing it with subduing motions using its engine as raw meat in her dog pound, stomping vigorously like a background dancer itching for fame and recognition, a flashing light on the dashboard appears, a symbol known as engine failure, this vehicle on e searching for answers in a life that feeds off of hate just want to be accepted, it reaches the exit but has no intentions nor expectations on what lies ahead, as it approaches this shack looking one pump run down tarp covered building, a cold rush swept through this vehicle, "is this what I fought so hard for" saying that drawing near the pump, not fully knowing its next move notices that it has no money for gas, and yet the think everything's all good under the hood.
This poem is about: 
Me

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