Drifter

I drift when I drive, and dread when I arrive,
so I just sit outside, where I'll feel more alive.
I'm tempting the fates with my all consuming hate,
and still my need to create lies in a dormant state.
Whispering a comatose breath, brought on like Seth,
I heed my own death as sure as the fall of Macbeth.
An eventless, winding road, driven to my own ode,
with a machine in corrode and equipped to explode.
Here I am effortlessly alert but restlessly inert,
and never could I convert until settling in dirt.
I swear it's so hard to care in a world unfair,
and to prepare when everyone has become unaware.
I desire the trust, but yet settle in dust,
and when nothing is just, the world can combust.
With apathy a virtue, only tolerance is true,
so the peaceful view is something long overdue.
Rooted deep in my mind is this thought to remind,
and my temper now blind for all of mankind.