These demons trapped inside of me
Strapped in so tight, so markedly
These emanations that I let you see are painted brash, poignantly.
This is my transmission, and it is overheating.
Everything is fleeting, a constant deletion.
An idle that is stuck too high
Somewhere between park and overdrive.
Grinding the gears,
Working the engine,
As it’s billowing out smoke
Fighting for its life.
Right before it’s about to blow
To cease and desist
It remembers its reason
And starts to shift.
And for a moment it goes into drive
And fights the fight for life
It falls into gear
And knows how to steer
Chaining its components
With the one—
—behind the wheel.