when driving, phone thumbing
dropping the fucker in between the pedals
the oncoming metal, the green Nissan hue.
We sigh and tumble onto the gravel
a crunch made from two.
My makeup, flesh, bone become a layered sponge
caked onto the smoking, paw printed pavement
and the peel which comes
causes me to shriek 'till tomorrow.
You stare, glazed
stricken maybe, but please,
just don’t.
Sometimes, I write bloody awful poetry after watching mind-numbingly terrifying PSA's. Dont text and drive kids. Unless, you're voting Tory (jk).
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