Airbag

Airbag

His eyes flinched, twitching
Like bats ears.
“Pick up your mother at 7, meet us at the restaurant.”

The world seemed an unhappy place,
His placid tears set to fill the Nile in a few short hours,
A half charged cell-phone
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bou
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Nc
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ing
On the seat like his blonde haired blue eyed thin framed
Perfectly sculpted
(ideal)
daughter.

Darkness and obsession a prelude to a needle,
Exasperation, struggling respiration
And an elongated, low pitched sigh.

The slick roads washing like soap suds,
Dry as desert
But in the incapable hands of our main character,
They were as slippery as a bathroom floor
Post bathing.

When he d r i f t e d
Into a lamppost,
Percussion cracked his skull like a sledge hammer,
Each bones fermata captured perfectly with a bass and snare,
Befitted perfectly with the occasional cymbal crash.

An airbag can only cushion your face for so long,
Until it leaves a mark in the steering wheel similar to Christ’s face on a cloth.

-
He thought of his mother.
Brown eyes.
She liked baseball and watching the plants grow on Sunday afternoons.
She was a short woman,
Always reaching for things and snapping fingers at him.
Beautiful.
-

Between the metallic strips tearing through his splintering jawbone,
He thought he smelled steak,
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp His lips trying as hard as they could to drip saliva
But they were currently quite preoccupied with disintegrating.

As his body contorted so far as to fit inside a typical office drawer,
Head whipping madly throw white airbags
And into glass windows,
He-

Saturday afternoon on the pier.
The sun was in the sky, incandescent for whatever reason,
Mother nature’s finest gem.
Her dress was a light yellow.
Her hands were fragile, like porcelain.

This whole process of dying seemed entirely too long,
Much unlike the movies but retaining that cinematic quality.
He felt something go through his lower back
And shrugged it off,
It’s momentary excruciation merely a segue to some finer glory he hoped to find.

The cement pillar seemed the titan in this struggle,
Our main character playing whatever anonymous henchman,
Just cannon fodder.

His left ear went dead as he felt a piece of glass
Tear through his ear drum,
Sounding briefly like masturbation but ending too quick to tell.

He wasn’t too sure when his rib cage cremated itself
and saved his parents the trouble,
But briefly he felt whatever wasn’t crushed rushing to fill the space.

She smiled.
Soon \ | / nooS

Finally.
He knew what she meant.