We've been living off your pulse in the absence of light.
The only sensation we feel is the draft for the freezing outside.
Our eyes glance at the clock, waiting for the minutes to move.
Bathed in the digital light that paints everything in view.
We've spent these past few years contemplating an escape.
If death is the consequence its a chance we take.
Open your eyes, Flash your brights, Ignore octagon shaped signs.
You're fucking drowsy, if you think this drive will get you further than our street.
You're fucking drowsy if you think this torch will burn precisely as you seek.
You ask how the fuck do our hearts beat so long untouched and the beauty of it...
Trite, awkward gestures frame the canvas of what we claim to be.
Night driving so long we are in the furthest points of a car.
Night driving for so long sitting in the furthest points of a car.
Watching the cobwebs grow from wall to wall.

You asked for my thoughts on the politics of whether God exists or not. We live our lives by dialogues on bathroom stalls.
Open your eyes if you think that this torch will do anything more than infect old sores, heat up cold wars.

...hopes like smoke from the cigarettes in a bar.
The only reason we breathe in is cause the pure air is sparse.