bilius

(no subject)

Speeding into the horizon. Dreaming of the sirens. Wishing for broken glass on a highway. It could be so easy. The rhythm, rhythm of an engine. Always makes me empty. I see the headlights coming at me. I can't help but wonder. Flying, flying in slow motion. The wind through my hair. And ripping through the scenery. Oh, the wreckage. It is my secret need. Speeding into the horizon. Dreaming of the sirens. Wishing for broken glass on a highway.

It could be so easy.

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