Erin McKeown Follow

It's a monday morning, cold winter's day, nothing outside is real.
step in the car, turn the key, put on some heat, begin to feel.
then i blink my eyes to make sure i'm me and think about catching a buzz
box my ears, clean my nose, got to get in gear because

I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head.
and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led.

I'm rolling down the highway at a safe and sane sixty per
seems so easy, seems so right to pull over and jump the curb.
the steering wheel begins to shift a little to my right.
my palms become sweaty and i jerk in a flash of light.
i slam on the breaks and screech to a halt.
pedestrians are swerving, i laugh cause it's my fault.
calm as can be i pull back into traffic,
speeding towards my hell cause i like my violence graphic.
the trees and leaves become superimposed on the sky
my vision is consumed with the greenness going by.

I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head.
and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led.

At 7:50 i'm stopped behind a school bus filled with pubes.
wouldn't it be funny, i think, to sell the little fuckers 'ludes?
but then a thought occurs to me from long ago when i was young
of the fear i had inside me at the prospect of barbiturate fun.
oh, how the times they change, i cackle deep inside
as i speed past that yellow shit puking carbon monoxide.

I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head.
and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led.

I've got five minutes to bolt, can't be late to my hell
when that cold hits me again, who i am i cannot tell.
what's reality is a mystery brought on by too much thought.
my concepts collapse my sense of being caught
between the cold air surrounding me and the emptiness inside.
my head is killing me, and i've got no place to hide.