Hears to the Mute

(haiku)

gonna kill myself
this isn’t a metaphor
i’m dead serious.

-atti

the nails sipped his palms,
poster child of folded hands
gift of martyrdom
-hang your crooked thief,
feet float from the only child;
our gemini death
brings a world to its two knees;
another to feet.

yesterdays regrets,
never forget tomorrows
-will become todays.

our mangled bumpers
twisted grills and love of speed-
it may be two fast.
the breaks did not work
-no turn signals, switching lanes;
burning rubber.
horns blur to sirens;
your steel cage womb becomes tomb;
we were almost (t)here.
i’m almost neutral,
but way two automatic
-as i popped her clutch;
rubber split around my gasp
-and transmission falls.