Words blur in my mind
like traffic signs in a high speed chase.
Gotta get out, gotta get out, gotta get out
out of this city,
out of this state,
out of this country.
Headlights reflect off the back of my skull
projecting the movie of my life.
Entertaining the remnants of my brain.
if there’s one word for it all, it’s
visceral.
Like the insects that devour my brain.
The first shocking moment that
took your breath away.
The terror
that makes your blood run cold.
The tragedy of losing the ones you love
that breaks your heart.
The images that
make you wish you were blind.
The pain that takes it too far and
teaches you to stop feeling.
Life has a way of ripping you apart
bit by bit,
moment by moment.
In the most horrifying ways.
The great lady calls to me,
Lady Lazarus.
she whispers to me,
“dying is an art.”
Each tragic event,
killed a part of me.
Grab the clutch, staggering in 5th gear.
The images in my mind
Now appearing on the sides of the road.
some sick play
surrounding me scene by scene.
Gotta get out, gotta go faster,
gotta get out, gotta go faster.
the engine revs,
The images begin to blur.
Blood dripping down the face of the
brown hair, blue eyed, 7 yr. old girl.
The hollow shell of a 30 yr. old woman,
belt in hand.
And an angel that tried too hard to
escape and succeeded.
I can’t take it. I can’t take it.
Gotta get out,
out of this mind, out of this body.
Going, going, going,
gone.