Addicted

[virtuoso]

Riding along a bumpy road
stopping at a fork in the road
not by choice or design
but from disorientation
shorn of his map
unable to read the signs
still unwilling to choose
the narrower entrance ramp
that leads him home
away from the bright lights
of urban decay

Turning onto the road
that yields only to desire
the skeletal remains
of a spent junkie
in death's throes
whose revved engine
constantly in overdrive
can never idle
fueled by lighter fluid
a high octane burning gas
and a hunger for speed

With quivering mind
careens towards the slums
with an indentured body
that once more swears fealty
to a toxic brain,
in his wake
nuanced shadows follow,
a self-less caricature
of a lifeless body
straddling the coattails
of a disinterred soul

[Afriendinneed]

I guess, the question here is:

Do cars REALLY have coattails?

I will leave that up to other readers. It was a pleasurable read, thank you.

[virtuoso]

The last stanza is referring to the mentality of the addicted person. Straddling the coattails not of a car, but his disinterred soul. The body is straddling his disinterred soul. Thanks for stopping by and commenting!