white cars

Sometimes, fear comes in a white car.

Sometimes, fear blinds you with its headlights.

Sometimes, fear comes to a halt one inch before your knees.

Sometimes, fear chases you through residential roads at night:

The bumps, the willow trees, the locked-up gates.

Sometimes, fear has its engines fade

Way before the mornings come.

Sometimes, when the sun lights up

The bumps, the willow trees, the locked-up gates,

You still turn your head and think

There are too many white cars out there.

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