The Last

I do not want bitter to be a lasting taste in my mouth, it’s hard when you feel like a deer struck by a car with blinding lights, I lie spun, guts ripped, the sky open, clear, starry, my destiny fled, enveloped by the up-high abyss. Helpless, tire marked, this blood seeps, seeps, away, prying its way through and to the under, the compost, the lost, the forgotten, my blood pours through, to the other side, the end. The engine awakes raves and stops, raves again, trying to pull away, trying to figure out, that, which has just ended, stopped in its tracks! Cold the world maybe but death is acknowledged by involuntary open stares. Eyes wince and blur, limbs stray; unaccounted for, the heart slows, the driver convinced, brighter the night burns, with one roar, shrouded silence remains. In that moment, I think, I do not want bitter to be the last thing I feel in this life.