slaughterhouse

i keep foreseeing my own physical demise during cold rides after midnight at various crossroads. the streets are wet, if that matters. sometimes i want to gaze at my possible doom, and i turn my head to the side in order to look death in the face before it overcomes me.

but nothing comes.

other times i shut my eyelids, entering a secluded stretch of blackness, where i linger between space and time. i take two breaths of freezing air and prepare for collision.

but the wheels continue to roll.

the premonition exists independent of any judgments regarding my death. the waiting cannot be stopped. but most beings can't stand the thought of no longer existing. it's why some animals rile up and cry out in despair as they are lined up to be slaughtered. it's why the spirit of a being fights while metaphorically dying to stay alive.

ironic; me in some strange reversal of a slaughterhouse. am i rushing towards it? does my heart beat faster out of fear, or anticipation?

and in every worry, is there a little bit of a wish?