I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big *******
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's ****-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."

it's been an awfully long time...
i'm sitting in the wierdest position on my school bleachers.
i refused to do gym because i feel like **** and i can't stand the way you try to get a glimpse of my bare skin.
if i was dying right in front of you, you'd ask me what was wrong instead of taking care of me.
i love the silence between songs.
i don't write on the lines because i want all of my words to be between them.
when i very sad i only notice it afterwards as i survey all of the damage that has been done.
i haven't stopped shaking and i'm surprised i haven't started an earthquake but these tremors seem to only be native to my planet.
my doctor has managed to fit my entire being onto three pieces of paper.
scares me to death.
constantly i switch the song i'm listening to because i'm trying to feel one thousand things at once.
i'm glad that you met me in the winter because things just go uphill from here so you won't be disappointed.
although i can't say that they won't get worse again in the next winter.
even if you're here,
even though winter is my favourite season,
even though the snow cools down my fevered skin,
even though even though even though it's ******* winter and these ******* pills are supposed to make me ******* happy.