The Steering Wheel

Another day, another dollar,

Driving to work with those same

White knuckles,

Which grip and steer the heart of his vehicle.

He’s finding no safety in these

seat-belt buckles.

If he doesn’t crash this car himself,

It’d be a miracle.

~

Listening to the same old song

On the American top forty.

He knows his life’s gone wrong,

When his music choice is corny.

~

But, secretly he likes it

~

But, secretly, he wants to die

~

I’m not sure what that says about his music?

~

I suppose it’s to-die-for acoustics.

~

Those white knuckles grip,

Straight in-front of glossy eyes,

If he were to jerk this wheel right now,

No one would be surprised.

~
There’s a valley down and to the right of here.

As the car speeds on, the point draws near.

This would be a great damn spot to steer.

~
The brain says “do it!”

~
The heart says “wait!”

~
He knows he’ll fuck it up,

If he hesitates.

~
As the spot draws near,

His intention grows clear.

~

He grits his teeth,

~

And sheds a tear.

~

Then jerks the wheel,

~

To end up in,

~

A wreck of steel.

~

Yet, he wouldn’t die today for real.

~

Bang!

~

And he was back in his car,

Hands on the wheel,

Sheeran on guitar,

None of it was real.

~

He’d live to tempt fate another day,

And to give death’s plan one more delay,

But for now, it’s time he earns his pay.


Feel free to follow me at Blog of the Wolf Boy.

I hope to spread unique content between both of these blogs in the future without recycling.

Thanks so much for reading and thanks so much to Scribbler’s for giving me this platform to write on. I appreciate you all.

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