Reality throws him through the wind shield,
Every glass shard that pierces his body is like a slap in the face, a stab in back,
Theft of his dignity.
As blood begins to rush out,
So do the memories.
Distant memories,
But just as fresh and painful,
As they were just a few years ago.
He wants to get up,
He needs to move on,
He dreams of picking himself off the pavement,
Covering all the wounds,
Forgetting everything.
But as he lays on the side of the road,
Drowning himself in the pool of cold  regret that has formed around him,
He looks up,
And all he can see,
Is red..