“When It’s Time to Collect”
Hair of black,
Eyes of stone
Body of twisted metal and bone.
Once alive and vibrant and full of dreams,
Now cold and pale in your dark blue jeans.
When small truck meets large truck
In a terrifying dead stop,
Unexpected, as it was,
The metal, the beams, the glass
Down through the windshield
With the speed and force of a god.
Smashing, glass breaking, blood dripping
Along the side of the car, he waits.
Patiently, not in haste.
Ready to take what now is his
He reaches in to touch your lips.
Cold as ice.
No, there’s no life.
Off with me, you go.
For the reasons you already know.
He grabs her throat and twists her head,
And laughs as he says, “Yes, she’s dead.”
She awakens and screams in horror
As she sees that the car is 50 feet below her.
She tries to fight and get away,
But there’s no fighting him now. It’s your day.
And unfortunately, there’s hell to pay.
Written on September 24, 2018