Writing is the car radio
It's turning things on
Writing is the car radio
It's turning things on
To distract from conversation.
It's the knife
To cut the silence
Tuning things out
Just habits of talk
Or reality in the newest form.
It's the sad love song
When you're driving home,
Lonely road,
Rain falling,
Broken hearted.
It's the death metal
Blasting through the speakers,
Allowing you to scream
Without being heard.
It's the smooth jazz
And vulgar rap
Of life.
Depicting your mood.
Becoming louder,
And louder,
Until …
You've blocked out the world
Blocked out the infant's cry,
The ambulance siren,
And the whimper of death.
Instead …
You hear the beat.
The emotion.
Because
Writing
Is the car radio.