Driving

I sit in my car for hours at a time, a microclimate the temperature of my breath. I test how long I can wait to text you that I got home before you consider worrying. I figure I’ll just feel it when you do. I lose track of time while I brush my teeth; my spit comes out spotted with faint pink blooms. Not every drop of blood is a conquest. Not everything is up for grabs. Not every god is good. Sometimes when I drive I test how long I can keep my eyes closed. My most notable victim has been a cat. Maybe a small dog. I scrubbed guts off my bruised fender for hours. Not that anyone is missing the poor thing. Not that you would have noticed.