Shattered glass on the side of a road.
Thrown out of a car window.
By a drunk.
On a highway.

Was once filled.
Once used and useful.
A bottle of *****.
Chilled.
And bought when needed.

When one needs to forget.
When one's mind has become their worst enemy.
Their own mind.
And it plays their worst memories.
Like a sick and twisted *** tape.
Haunting.

Like those nights.
Words, screams, shouts.
Glass breaking, doors slamming, knives slicing.
Sweat dripping, tears dropping, blood spilling.

Then the silence.

And the recovery.
Though that's not what it really is...

Shattered glass on the side of the road.
Not from a bottle.
From a car window
A car with its bonnet a tree.
And a smiling dead body in the driver seat.