i was 12
and sitting in the passenger's seat
next to my mother
when we collided
with someone else;

my world became a blur
of shattered glass and screams
and sirens and flashing lights
and ****** hands reaching for
****** faces.

"you should've died that day,"
they always tell me.
but i did.
why can't they see that i'm dead?

i was 14
when i jumped from our second
story apartment window, and my
body hit the ground with enough force
to make the earth shake;

my world became a blur
of shattered bones and screams
and sirens and my mother's tears
trailing down her face as she wept by
my hospital bed;

"you should've died yesterday,"
the doctor told me,
and i wanted to ask him why
he couldn't tell that i was already dead.

i am 17,
and wondering why i am still here
if i am dead

i am 17,
and asking my mother when
my funeral will be, and if she
could please have tiger lilies
at the service.  

"visiting hours are over,"
the nurse tells her, and
she smiles at me with teary eyes,
and i smile back, because she says
we'll have a funeral when i get home
from the hospital.

i am 17,
and i am dead,
and wondering how everyone can
see me if i'm only a ghost

i am 17,
and all i want is to be in the ground,
six feet deep

i am 17,
and realizing that my mother lied
to me, we're never going to have a funeral,
and i am angry

i am 17,
and i am not sick, stop telling me i'm sick,
i'm dead

i'm dead