Country of Origin: England
When he circles the roundabout,
I am pressed against the car door,
And it starts to hurt again.
Bandages coiled around both arms
Blood as red as wine.
We rush through the night air,
A truly religious experience,
Worshipping in the synagogue of pain.
I pull my cap down over my eyes,
Because the lights, they blur together,
Just like I knew they would.
Just like they do every time.
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