Car Crash

I was speaking to a friend recently about my writing, and she asked me if I had published anything. The question seemed ridiculous at first, cause what do I have to publish? Then when I thought about it I realized I have quite a bit of material I've written over the years, I just don't share it very often. So what the hell, here's a ditty I put together earlier this year. I quite like it, and it reflected an emotional state I was in at the time. Enjoy.

Car Crash

I am a car crash.

I am not quiet or subtle.

I will not relieve you of any burden.

You will not avoid this.

I am coming for you.

I have not thought this through, and no planning on your part can stop me.

You are not a defensive driver.

Break, gas, break, and I am still there.

Swerve left then right and I will find you.

I am nudging your rear bumper just to peak your curiosity.

I am scraping at your passenger door as though asking to be let in.

As though you could stop me.

As though you had a choice.

How far can tempered glass bend before it creaks, and cracks and chips, and shatters?

Before a million tiny pieces sail through you, cutting, shredding, filling you with sand from a thousand beaches and deserts you will never visit?

I am coming for you.

And you will not thank me later.

When you survive this, and it makes you stronger, or faster, or more hopeful, and years from now when you find your true calling, or wealth, or God, or Love, you will not look back on me with appreciation.

You will not pay me respect.

And it will not matter, because right now I am coming for you.

Breaking through your metal and glass, and plastic and electronics and supelly wood accents, pop up nav screens, DVD’s for the kids, ipod docks, flesh, bone, blood, soul.

I do not find your pain attractive.

I do not want to fuck your wounds.

I am not James Spader.

This is not a romantic endeavor or a Dave Matthews song.

I am coming for you.

I have taken your defenses already.

You think you are protected from me, but you are not.

Your seat belt has been cut, your airbag is deflated, even NASCAR quality crash webbing would only sear and burn you.

You are mine, and you are blissfully unaware.

You are listening to your radio while I burn fuel on your hood.

You are watching the scenery go by while I crush your roof in.

I am sitting in the passenger seat with your heart in my hand, and you are ignorant of the gaping bleeding hole in your chest.

I would pity you if you hadn’t asked me to come in the first place, and make no mistake, I am coming for you.

Your tears do not amuse me.

Your blood does not keep me warm.

Your mangled body is no comfort.

I need you to understand.

I am coming for you.

So pay attention.

Turn off the music and drive.

Petal to the floor and straight as an arrow.

Come for me.

Show me no quarter.

Take me with as much force as you can muster because I will do the same to you.

And if you’re lucky, or wise, or faster or better… which I doubt, then maybe as the blood runs down your face and the sirens wail in the distance and the world goes dark and fuzzy at the edges, just before you slip out of the waking world and into the nightmare I have given you as my only lasting gift, maybe the last sound you hear will be a scream as unfamiliar as justice.

Maybe the death caused this time will not be yours, and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing before the sun sets on this disaster that you were the one who could have truly loved me.

But I doubt it.

I am coming for you.