I don't even know why I still watch for cars when I walk home.
It's not like I'm scared I'll get hit.
In all honesty, it would probably be a fitting end for someone like me.
A coward.
A slacker.
A liar.
Someone too close to dropping out or flunking out with only a year and a half left to go.
All two hundred and fifty pounds of me just blunt force against the front end of some poor guy's car.
All of my weight thrown down fifty foot of pavement.
Every inch of me cut.
Scraped.
Bruised.
Broken.
Torn by the asphalt.
It would be a fitting end.
But for now, I shake the thoughts and walk into my house to live through another cycle of thoughts of ending myself.
