Diverge

Im driving through all the stop lights but stopping at the ones that are green, throwing my middle finger up to the one in between. Life. Has hit me with many stop signs but I treat them as yield signs with cruise set on 80; I’m sailing. Try and stop me now as my petal hits the ground and all you see is a faded image of what once was. Me. Drifting down narrow black seas to my own rhythm. Freedom is only for the given so I took. High beams on bright, top down, steering my car down south; no GPS.