Author: Amanda Miller

Anonymous

I Dream of a Head-On Collision

I dream of a head-on collision.
That moment when you cross the yellow line.
The rumble strip isn’t enough thrill anymore.
I debate which vehicle is worth my time.

I desire the unfortunate death.
To hear people claim I went before my time.
To look down on strangers at my funeral.
To hear the cliché condolences that rhyme.

I ponder which vehicle will pain me the most.
I hope my father hears of my crash.
I want him to know something tortured me more than him.
I wonder if the pain will trump that of my past.

I consider which automobile reminds me of adolescence.
That will be the one I hit.
Those years were a car accident in themselves.
An unaccompanied journey in a tunnel unlit.

I contemplate other ways to die.
Too vain to inflict pain upon myself, unlike you.
Too subtle to hang myself, though,
Who I’d address the suicide note to, I knew.

I focus on the present.
My discomfort around men, my mistrust for mankind,
I owe it all to you.
I’ll show my gratefulness in due time.

I reminisce on all my achievements in life.
Never were you there.
Not for honor roll, graduation, college,
Because never did you care.

If you could only see how I’m driving right now,
You’d wonder how I ever got my license.
You weren’t there for that achievement either.
You missed all my big events.

Who am I kidding? Mom isn’t that great either.
She steals every cent I have.
She neglects me for the daughter she did want.
I just look at life and laugh.

When she hears about my death,
She’ll pretend she loved me true.
But she’ll ridicule me afterwards
And sell all my belongings too.

So, mom, here’s to you.
I’m doing 70 on the back roads, but it’s not fast enough.
I know without my income, now,
It’s going to make things tough.

And if and when you read this, you’ll deny every word.
Your compulsive lies are truly one of a kind.
I can’t wait to look down on you, as you cry for the media
And take the credit for my brilliant mind.

All this suffering you two have put me through, and still it’s not enough.
I need to fill this emotional void with something far worse.
I shall let this speeding, moving-van determine my fate,
For something more detrimental than you must put me in a hearse.

I yearn for that tragedy to strike upon my life.
I reach 90 by the upcoming curve.
Then I focus on my friends and my independent success.
I approach the truck at 122, and I swerve.
Because I swear, that’s a fate that only those two deserve.