We'd Set The Fire To The Third Bar

I had a doctor’s appointment today. On the way home I came to a dead end with one of those yellow signs with a big black arrow pointing in both directions, as if people couldn’t tell that the road did in fact end right there. Left was home, right was not. I went right and drove, unable to speed due to the abundance of police patrolling. I felt trapped by the cops around and the giant fence encompassing my whole life. I had no where to go, no place that would offer more comfort than right there, in the car, driving aimlessly through the cluster-fuck of streets. My mind was wondering, like it had been for the past three days, and I knew right then why I had no place to go; In my hands was a torch, burning hot and strong, and I was carrying it to each bridge that led away from here.

As if that wasn’t enough, as if the realization that I had brought upon my own capture wasn’t sufficient to knock me down and spit on me, what really got to me, the kick in the gut if you will, was the fact that I was trapped right where I wanted to be. So why the panic? Why the constant searching? Why am I still looking for something I can’t quite see, can’t quite touch, can’t quite name?