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Description
I must admit, I can be … a tad *reckless* behind the wheel …

Maneuvering my vehicle at high speed,
through traffic and around obstacles,
gives me a certain pleasure.

A sense of control, perhaps–
the sense that I can control *my vehicle*, at least?
Or simply a rush of adrenaline–
the thrill of courting death and disaster
(leading those bitches on
only to cheat on them at the last second)?
Is the thrill accentuated by my stomach-pit flashes
to that accident last year,
where we flipped five times across the lanes of oncoming traffic,
yet emerged from the twisted remains of the car
visibly unscathed?

I could have died then …
I would have died then, but for a split second’s luck …

***
Regardless, I *still* can be a tad reckless behind the wheel …

Whatever the reason,
maneuvering my vehicle at high speed,
through traffic and around obstacles,
gives me a certain pleasure.

A sense of control, perhaps–
the sense that I can control *my vehicle*, at least,
even if the rest of my life seems to be in a constant state of falling apart?
Or simply a rush of adrenaline–
the jolt from courting death and disaster
(cheating on those desperate bitches,
but still feeling their fingertips brush against my shoulders
as if about to finally seize on me,
as if this time to not take my teasing "no" for an answer)?
Is the jolt accentuated by my spine-long flashes
of desperate panic / mad relief,
which have been a fact of my life for … for three years …
that have left me visibly unscathed …

Anyway, is it desperate panic / mad relief
that my luck is finally about to run out?
Am I hoping, ever hoping, to lose control?
Was I hoping last year?
Did I think … Do I think …

I could have died then …
I would have died then, but for a split second’s luck …
I should have died then, and corrected three years worth of mistakes …?

***
Regardless, my car has broken down. Due to engine trouble.
So I suppose I shall either have to resign myself entirely to living …
or find a new activity I can be a tad reckless in …

Description
I must admit, I can be … a tad *reckless* behind the wheel …

Maneuvering my vehicle at high speed,
through traffic and around obstacles,
gives me a certain pleasure.

A sense of control, perhaps–
the sense that I can control *my vehicle*, at least?
Or simply a rush of adrenaline–
the thrill of courting death and disaster
(leading those bitches on
only to cheat on them at the last second)?
Is the thrill accentuated by my stomach-pit flashes
to that accident last year,
where we flipped five times across the lanes of oncoming traffic,
yet emerged from the twisted remains of the car
visibly unscathed?

I could have died then …
I would have died then, but for a split second’s luck …

***
Regardless, I *still* can be a tad reckless behind the wheel …

Whatever the reason,
maneuvering my vehicle at high speed,
through traffic and around obstacles,
gives me a certain pleasure.

A sense of control, perhaps–
the sense that I can control *my vehicle*, at least,
even if the rest of my life seems to be in a constant state of falling apart?
Or simply a rush of adrenaline–
the jolt from courting death and disaster
(cheating on those desperate bitches,
but still feeling their fingertips brush against my shoulders
as if about to finally seize on me,
as if this time to not take my teasing "no" for an answer)?
Is the jolt accentuated by my spine-long flashes
of desperate panic / mad relief,
which have been a fact of my life for … for three years …
that have left me visibly unscathed …

Anyway, is it desperate panic / mad relief
that my luck is finally about to run out?
Am I hoping, ever hoping, to lose control?
Was I hoping last year?
Did I think … Do I think …

I could have died then …
I would have died then, but for a split second’s luck …
I should have died then, and corrected three years worth of mistakes …?

***
Regardless, my car has broken down. Due to engine trouble.
So I suppose I shall either have to resign myself entirely to living …
or find a new activity I can be a tad reckless in …