I Always Like When People Analyze My Poems

Escaping
But I’m not running?
The exhaust spits out like the smoke from my lungs.
The air is cold,
And I reach for your blanket.
Hallow from burying my face in you.
My hand is freezing over,
And I reach for your blanket.
Gravel rattles beneath my tires.
Faster, faster, faster into the black trees.
The air is so fucking cold,
And I reach for your blanket.
My ears bleed and I fall back into the exhaust.
Escaping from what?

 

Its pretty good, but it doesn't have any flow. I can't help you out though, I'm no poet.

Post more! I'll read 'em.

 

Not all poetry has flow, at least I don't think. Maybe I'd just have to break up the lines differently. I just like when people guess what they're about.

 

Detroit?