The Biker's Rules
Zea Drewkiara booktokkiera booktok
“I want you to listen.”
The music swells, filling the car, vibrating through the seats, the windows, my ribs. I don’t even realize I’m singing at first — until the words are already out of me, every line memorized, etched into muscle and memory.
‘Hmm, yeah … Mirrors they never lie … Don’t see myself inside … Why can’t I get it right?
I don’t know …
You’re always watching me fall … Shadows, they like my wall … Why do I feel so small?