Under the Bus

I have tire marks

On my neck

My back

My chest

My arms

My legs

My forehead even

And the bus keeps rolling

I have so many tire marks

On my body that

 I’m beginning to think

 That they’re tattoos

I’ve been rolled over

So many times

 That I can’t feel anything

 Anymore

I’ve been

Mangled

Crushed

Dismembered

And the bus keeps rolling

I’ve been thrown under the bus

 So many times,

 That I’m not waiting anymore

I’ve learned

 To throw myself

 Under the bus

And convince myself

That it doesn’t hurt

As much

I’ve been under the bus

So long that

I think this is where

 I belong

And the bus keeps rolling