DON’T DELETE THIS!!!

Sobbing your way down the 401 on the four-hour trip home
will have you starting to feel like maybe the sudden
resurgence of instagram story chain mail was right all along.
Try as you might with your heel hooked into the floor mats
you can outrun neither the police nor bad luck, only drive
beside your sadness while its winds attempt to pry fingernails
through the shutters in your air conditioning. You’ll tweet out
your high-speed sorrow but ignore Adriel’s call for you
to finally listen to Frank Ocean’s Blonde because who are he
or Lonny Breaux to tell you how to vacate your feelings.
Better you blend in with other bleary-eyed drivers, better
your sadness sits only sometimes watched by nosy children
chasing their fingers through the brush and never the eye of the internet.
The rest stop is you and other unlucky long-haulers
thumbing through honeymoons and faceless faces, hopelessly
accumulating misfortune because no one is better off having seen
you as a teenager. Better to accrue bad months careening towards
the OnRoute in your phone than to relive hotmail horror stories
when you were the on-ramp to broken mirrors and bloody ghosts.
Windshield your glasses of the tears you wish were sweat before
you race back to reach the traffic that comes always sure as tomorrow,
where the overturned semi pulls your phone out for a photo
to send to ten of your closest friends.