Waiting

I eat the night alive from
this back seat,
surrounded by
someone elses sorrow
and my own denials.

The street lights illuminate
the question mark
riding shotgun.
There's never a straight
or decisive answer -
nothing's ever easy;
but I find our concern to be
decidedly lacking.

I've become
one big nervous tick,
wanting to get up and run
and never look back.

I'm this blank slate
that cannot be marred.
Challengers are welcome
but are all but doomed to failure.

I'm standing here though,
waiting for
the thunderstorm to roll in;
hoping for
the wind to pick me up
and completely blow me away.