Cherry Djarums in the glovebox
The air is wet and thick and I'm alone
The way I want to be

I have some people
Who wish things of me
A film montage of want

But when I'm not moving
I feel like a room that is slowly filling with exhales
I am unable to be honest and also be a room of other people's air

Saying something that's a lie makes my mouth hurt
But I've been trying
Sort of hard to lie

It's like sucking the tips off a box of matches
It's useless and tastes bad and causes me pain
And then I feel crazy and dark

When I go
I drive violently through the state
And I don't hear the birds or anything
I do it fast

I am my lead foot
I am getting heavier

I want to cut the air in two with surgical precision
Leave two parts weeping
And when I'm gone

It patches up behind me
Maybe it gets more beautiful for its scars
But I'd rather not see it do