Final Destination

An engine can only run
for a limited number of years.
Tires can only wind down a road
for a limited number of miles.
Headlights can only be bright
for a limited amount of tears.
Thus, for one long lifetime,
my vehicle - the body that holds
my lungs, my heart, my soul -
has remained faithful to me.
Until tonight.
I beg for someone
to put me in a garage
for humans, please -
one I will never
drive away from.
I can not fight it, anymore.
All that I am
is now breaking down.

Motionless
is what I long to be:
at peace with the constant reminder
that I am going
into that promised land
that promises nothing.

Emotionless
is an emotion
I am feeling tonight,
as I lie here
in a hospital room,
with the hands
of dead family members
and dead friends
clenching my arms
and whispering to me.
Or maybe it is just
hallucinations from
all of the pain medicine
a needle is forcing me to digest.

The final words are now tumbling
from out of a tired hand,
long since past it's prime.
The metaphors of cars,
and engines, and roads
that have filled my poems
need not apply anymore.
It is quite obvious what is happening.

All of this?
This is my reward, my trophy
for surviving all the torture.
The prospect of death
and the dull, wooden box
that awaits me soon
is all I have left in my future.
This is not like a movie scene
there are no final words
no epiphany, no secrets, no tears
I am too busy fucking dying.

And then, dear god,

Blackness.

I have arrived
at my final destination.


~J.V.Harker~
~Wednesday 1 July 2009~