i cut the brake lines
before heading off onto
another one way trip
the wrong way towards
a better tomorrow

the gas light is on
running on the fumes of
yesterday’s ambition
unwilling to be part of
the change needed to
finally find success

the gas pedal is pressed
all the way to the floor
as i send apology texts
before aiming for the median
a fuck off grin plastered
to my deformed face as i
hope for a flash to set
the entire thing ablaze

objects of rejection may
appear closer than they seem
a simple deflection inherent
in the gesticulations of a
smiling idiot folded in two

brake fluid and gas fumes
four slashed tires mimicking
two slashed wrists spraying
fuselage on the entrance ramp
to the defunct airport of
grounded flights of fancy
curb check all emotional baggage
curb stomp expectations until
the various fluids congeal in
the empty gutter of hope