Route 116

Like I always say, I can't write. This is just a venting coping mechanism. Everything I post comes from the muddled lines of a notebook I write in for therapy reasons. All work is un-edited.

They call it Tennessee's highway to hell, but if hell is real I'm already here.

I don't need another way to get there.

Running around the curves going 55, waiting for the perfect chance to die.

But it doesn't come. It doesn't come. 

Theres many chances, but my car's too safe.

Any wreck wouldn't knock the scraps off my plate.

Damn you Volvo. Damn you.

So I run down this road with nowhere to hide, trying to suppress the feelings of wanting to die.

I go around a curve, someone's in my lane. 

I think this is the chance to end my pain.

But they move. Way too soon. 

So next time I'm sent to hell, set the GPS for back roads. 

Give me more scenic route home. 

Author's Note

Like I say, I can't write. This is just a venting coping mechanism.

Reviews

[MadisonJR]

This is great I love the last line " So next time I'm sent to hell, set the GPS for back roads. Give me more scenic route home". I understand every piece of the poem; because I have been there too. I hope you don't still feel this way. You are great at writing and I think you'll inspire many people. Great work!

[Angel]

I really like it, even if it's just you venting. I'm glad you shared. Besides, I think you write just fine considering you don't even think you do. :P