I am seventeen and
Driving home from ballet at 10 pm,
Dense pine forests whirring
Past my headlights, darkness
Enveloping the two orbs of light;
Hardly another soul on the road, my
Body feels numb and remote;
My consciousness drifts, barely
Aware that my toes are pressing
The accelerator down a little further
As I wonder what it would be like
To punch it to the floor and
Veer suddenly
Into the
Quiet trees
