i was afraid
walking home
in pitch black
vagueness
trees bumping
their oaked
shoulders
into mine
the moon
following me
like a security camera.
i opened
my phone and read
your number out
loud nineteen times
thinking about the coincidence
that is my supposed
s** race and cla**
my boxes
which will allow
me to continue living
pretty certainly
and comfortably
should i choose
to follow their lead.
with no hit
men after me
no reason for
elaborate plans
to be made for
my a**a**ination
no real reason not
to not do anything
i sit down in the
middle of the road
trying to get hit on
and with purpose.
but no,
d**h for us
run of the mill
will be ‘accidents'
it will be
the lightning
strike me
the car metal
pierce me.
and with your phone
number memorized
i will spend my last
seconds saying
something
i hope i do not
plan out
to you.
though
if at&t
doesn't have service
in the ditch
or pothole
i am dying in
i guess this poem
with all its faux
romanticism
means nothing
once again.