Pile Up

Vehicles are only boxes of metal for massacres.
Speeds of destruction elevating passed 80 mph.
Back roads and highways littered with crosses and flowers for remembrance.
Rear ends, swerving off the road and dodging spectacles from your image.

When is my transportation bound to take my life or someone else?

Life is always bound to end,
But why do I allow myself to turn the clock back?
I started a history of burning the tread off to the rim.

How does a 100 car pile up gleam with beauty to The Fragile Mind?

The high appears disgusting to the naked eye.
Those inside the rummage only see and admire It.
I will kill myself and my family if I do not exit this vehicle.

F*ck Off Angie

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Key Words : addiction, recovery, drugs, rehab, rehabilitation, crazy, insane, anger, psycho

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This Poems Story

During addiction the troubles of the day pile up. Outsiders look in at a disgusting person but I myself see only the beauty of the high.