Like so many mornings, I fight with him,
My eyes well up, my mood desperate and grim.
A constant battle, as ever it goes,
Neverending, deep down the heart knows.

I have to leave, and drive to work;
Anger and fear inside me lurk.
My foot on the pedal presses down too hard,
Faster I go, faster with each passing yard.

Emotions swirl like a wave come to drown me
I live within stress, each day it surrounds me.
So tired of the constant struggle of life,
Of the bone-deep weariness that cuts like a knife.

Life at its worst is merely survival;
At its best you could call it spiritual revival.
As it is now though, I go even faster,
Knowing full well it will end in disaster.

I see it there, on the side of the road up ahead:
A big, fat tree I'm hoping will leave me dead.
I turn the wheel, adrenaline hits,
Never feel again, if Providence permits.

Faster, onward, push the pedal down,
The tires, they're squealing over the ground.
Faster, faster - on to death and nothing less -
Faster (crash), faster (thud), into sweet nothingness.

© P.M. Turner