Auto Eroticism

Smoke gathers and hangs in substance fueled car rides like the mist surrounding Niagara falls while sad songs of yesterday fall upon non-present deaf ears.
Another bullet dodged, another chambered for tomorrow.
I used to say that nothing matters but the here and now.

I know this to be false. Nothing matters.

Dying like paint drying.  Waiting impatiently for the end and when it comes sooner than expected, you're stuck on the wall of an indifferent ever changing room.
Sideways glances from self obsessed Men caught up in the lust of auto-eroticism.
White knuckles grasping the gear shift like a Lover's hand while staring down the possibility of death.
Smoke gathers and escapes like so many Lovers of times not forgotten. 
Smoke gathers and clings tightly to my jacket also not unlike a former Lover.
Smoke gathers and dissipates while the red hot dynamo headache shatters upon the blacktop. 
A world created and destroyed just as quickly.