Whenever someone
offers me a ride,
I always refuse, and
they are confused as to why.
They don’t hear the
screaming inside my head
or see blood-soaked
sheets on a hospital bed.
They never saw your
black and blue skin
or know that it’s killing me
somewhere deep within.
They don’t understand why
a wreck’s called a wreck.
After it happens,
you can never forget…
Sure, chances are
it won’t happen again.
But I can’t stop thinking it will,
so I won’t get in.
Besides, I don’t mind walking
home in the snow or rain,
No one can see that I’m crying;
it disguises all of this pain.