Wednesday, December 09, 2009

A letter.

Dear whoever might be listening.

I am occupying a fatalistic space at the moment.
Every time we drive down the street, or turn the corner, or cross the road I think,
"we might die".
And when we reach the other side, or continue smoothly, engine running, baby gurgling in the backseat, I am surprised.

I wonder if I'm normal.
I've been told that I'm not. But perfectly ordinary people die crossing the road, it happens all the time.
I've read it in the newspapers.

My head is empty today, and my chest is numb.
I took a tablet last night.
It's so peaceful.
If I sit very still I cease to exist.

I wonder, when I sign things "Love me",
do I mean, with love from me?
Or please, please love me.
Remember me, remember my words, think of me fondly from time to time.

Love me.


  1. I feel the same way when driving on a high/freeway & cars change into the lane right next to you, that they're not going to stop in time to not smash up against the side of the car.
    Or when I'm in between 2 trucks I wait for them to both swerve into me at the same time, squashing me like a bug.
    I'm not paranoid, just realistic.
    I've seen The Matrix.

  2. HURRAY, first comment in ages!
    Um, possibly cos I haven't posted anything in ages...

    I'm so glad that someone else feels the same way...let us find comradeship in our joint paranoia *ahem*, realism.

  3. I wish you would post most =]
    I may ask for that for Christmas.

    The one day I don't think about being squished or run off the road will be the day it happens.
    Better to be concerned & shifty eyed than sorry.

  4. I think the same way every day I cross the street. I once tired of the fear and just walked with out looking. There were some honks, but I made it.

    Your poetry is excellent.

  5. Oh, I have been replaced. When I drive, I am continually planning what I would do if I was in an accident and my legs got squished.