"Untitled" by Daniel Wyman
I'm crying in the parking lot of the liquor store;
my head's pressed against the steering wheel.
And with the dash directly in front of me,
I realize my car is the perfect analogy for me.
All the lights are on:
the right rear tire is low on air.
The maintenance required light is on.
The back is full of shit from my last move,
and I don't know where to put it or what to do with it.
And the worst part is that the gas light is on.
Because I'm close to running on empty.
And for the first time in my life, that's exactly how I feel.
I am running on empty.
And I don't know if I have the cash to refill.