Sitting there picking at the psychological scabs. Disappointments face mirrors my own stuck in a personal hell in which a cold carress and the slow tempo heart beat pull me apart.

Crash
Amnesia blaring in your ears.
Piano running through its arpeggio
as you hear muffled questions being
shouted from a distance.
Take off your helmet.
Remove your ear buds.
Open your eyes to a disgusting amount of dead valley sky.
It's time for you to sit up.
Engine still puttering like a champ.
The stranger mutters something like,
"That's a lot of blood. Are you ok?"
Stifling ***** and a laugh you reply,
"Feelin' fine. Never better."
You notice that he's still in his car.
He didn't even roll down his window fully. This is the extent of help or empathy you've come to expect.
The taste of iron fills your mouth.
You spit. Crimson.
You smile. Fake.
You wave him on.
It's time to work. It's a process.

The mass vascularity is finally revealed as the voice on the phone beckons
"are you ok?"  & "im scared."
Lifting yourself off the tile floor
It was once a harsh stone white
it's stained with sanguinous face prints
Your weakened, concussive reply
"if you're not scared what are you?"

Both forever and never the optimistic
Eager to repair, cure, remedy
smile forged by the smoldering liar inside
Seems so familiar this reality
Seems like I've been here before torn from what used to hold me
With broken skin and ****** hands constantly gripping what could've been what couldn't be fixed.