Highways

look and see, concrete and paint.
cracked and worn; patched with pitch.
veins snaking across her skin
little blood cells moving
unthinking of where they go of
endless adventures
could be as easy as
taking the next off ramp.

You see a highway;
an insterstate.
I see a way out of here;
an escape.

by Livingdead | Tuesday 29 September 2009 1:41am | Wander Lust | permalink | 0 comments

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