I Am Just A Statstic
I am just a statistic. I am typing on my phone Running off the road, All because Jim and Patricia Are having another one of their fights And they’ve kept me up all night with all of their He said She said Well I didn’t care that much, At least not enough to die But here I am and oh god my mother’s going to cry At my funeral because I didn’t buckle up And I didn’t see that pick up. I am one in four thousand, My chances were doubled And all of this because Patricia was troubled. I just needed to check it, To see if she wanted strawberry or chocolate, Well now she gets neither. I am buried six feet under and my number expired. I haven’t been drinking, I’m squeaky clean. But people still question it when they’re on the scene Because I was reckless, and I killed myself The guardrail is a knotted pretzel. All because of Patricia and Jim and four a.m. fights And overwhelming classes. I was driving without my glasses. There are a million excuses for what happed that day, But I’m going to give you just one. I was distracted and reckless And this life is done.
This poem is a first person account of a wreak that took the narrators life and why that wreak even occurred.