Strewn.

On the road.

A truck driver's meth

lost its edge when his body

gave in to fatigue the moment

I was about to pass him going

the other way.

It came fast, the disgusting crunch,

the ejection through glass

my dog destroyed in the back

seat, my arm ripped off

40 feet in front of me

and facing south

I feel the asphalt on the side

of my face, my body lightening,

my heart and lungs accepting

the end,

my blood ending its work

my brain keeping onto the

road in front of me

bright

warm

the sounds of

wind and gravel

and my breaths slowing

to a stop

it makes perfect sense

I think of my feet under the desk

buried into the fur of my dog

while I write until he's had enough

and goes to his spot on the couch

I think of the keys and the words

the sunshine of those moments

my head empty of music while

I change to dead

smiling at my ripped-away

limb and thinking

the tattoo on the back of

my forearm looks

good as a stand-alone piece

then a sadness grips the

acceptance of the end

despite the words

written on those nights when

I thought I'd had enough

I don't want to die.