you told me that you
were fine, that you
were sober, i believed you.

i got into the car with you,
you smiled and said we'll be fine,
that we'll make it home in one piece.

we were 10 minutes away from
the house when the car swerved,
and everything blurred in front of me.

the windshield shattered
like snowflakes, and
stayed under your skin.

you screamed until
your voice got lost.

and i only know what
that sounds like
because of how scared
you'd get get in movies,
the lights off, and feeling
too disconnected to the
floor at your feet, i wonder
if it was any different.

i try to not think about it,
how you dropped like a red rose,
but it's hard when i call you
to see you if you're coming to school,
only to remember your line's been cut
for about 5 months now.

these aren't the kind of things
you get used to.