it's strawberry banana juice flowing down the throat and it feels like a slide.
i leave and the music is on loud, reverberating and shaking tears loose from wells deep inside. they crawl in rivulets down virgin cheeks and i reach for the ones under my chin and bring them up to my lips with fingertips. the salt is me. salt water brought clarity at one instance. river of salt dries into pores and evaporates into empty air, leaving behind a stiff stinging bed. it comes with the blank stare and parted lips. a moth on the other side of the glass. i fall into the music and through the windshield, shattering glass when i bridge the gap and skin peels away to fresh red not stong enough to exit the wound. the asphalt matches the sky in gray. the lights before me are red and pulsing and parallel in opposite force are the white lights appearing to call for salvation. but i am not the same direction.