Photo by Gustavo Spindula on Unsplash

Your obsessive trait.
Is what sometimes makes you great
A mirror your weapon
Your driving not great
Ops, another mistake
There goes that person’s gate

People crossing is a chore
and I’m yours
Bouncing off my car
There goes another child
I must admit I’m wild

Now my mirror is filled with blue
I really am through
Behind bars
On a water fast

Clearly not my fault
Being brought to court
The judge is a sort
Reading how I plead
Me getting on my knees
Begging to be free

I’m off again now, people my new surround-sound
Bars of the door, showing teeth marks galore
I wish I wasn’t poor
So I could have paid the bail,
Instead, I’m asking for the pail

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