It's like I'm picking up glass off a road,
Trying to make a window.
It's like it skidded after it snowed,
Pieces scattered like the mind of a ******.
Head out in space,
Fragmented pieces turn into liquid,
Mind gone without a trace,
Swirling swirling skid skid skid.

That poor sweet kid,
Silly man look what he did.

"hi, can i drive?"
"no, haha, just come in."
"can you drive me home? actually.."
"sure, come!"

tiny black car and beautiful interior you got there.

"have you set your seatbelt on?"
"sure! let's go!"
"no, no, put it on right. i dont want you ended up like our friend.."
"don't say that.. i put it on right. we're gonna be okay."

smell of the ambi pur you got there, take me to an ****** scent to my nose.

"where we go now?"
"dont you say you want to go back home?"
"oh, sure!"
"no, no, no, i know something better."

you keep the windshield closed, make your breath even warmer.

"hey, is it the route to the city side?"
"yeah, why? you don't want to go there?"
"uh, actually i have a lot of tasks to do."
"oh.. okay, I'll just drive you home then."

the keychain you got on your back mirror, it's shining and pink.

"..."
"..."
"cough."
"..."

i start to look at the wood we passed by. it's silent.

"..."
"..."
"I.."
"yeah?"

it's a beautiful voice you got there, with every kind of melt you made me.

"I... kinda.."
"turn left! that's my home, the orange one."
"oh, oh, okay."
"okay, stop here."

the car just stopped. left the noise of the machine we heard.

"thanks."
"ah, sure."

i look into your eyes like you did. you want to tell me something.

"ah, Dy?"
"yeah, Sunny?"
"it's a beautiful car you got there. thanks for the ride."
"ah.."

it's a beautiful car you got there. I'm sorry to say that, because my words are just lost in your eyes.

×

Leaving the highway for the curvy rural lane
Moonless pitch-black night returning
From Rome to the heart of its green belt.
Where the countryside seduces farmers

With shiny nuggets on primeval trees,
Mediterranean gold, liquid olives
To be harvested and milled.
Up for bids to the greatest connoisseur,

Sabine hills the scenery of ancient Roman wars,
Where oil was not the only ****** to be picked and sold.
Sabine hills the refuge of deserters and the set,
Of my Romeo’s exhale after fixing its spark plug.

My lover at the steering wheel, my brother at the back,
Myself on the passenger seat listening to music
Smoking dreams away. ‘Smells like something’s burning’
A comment from the rear, to which the driver promptly

Responded ‘Your sister just lit a cigarette’.
Temporarily satisfying the doubt,
‘It’s getting hot in here’ was the next remark.
To which the patient answer followed

Blaming me once more. ‘Your sister just turned
the heater on’ And it made sense until
Few minutes later, flames burst out of engines
Glimpsing from the sides of a bonnet melting.

‘Stop and run for your lives!’ the unspoken words
And so I did, looking back only when I reached
A distance to see, my beloved brother attempting
To escape blocked by child safety locks for absent kids.

Turning down the window to jump out,
Dukes of Hazzard style. By the time
The police and fire fighters arrived,
Nothing but the steal incandescent skeleton

Was left of what once was my first car. Paid for
It two years still, until the last instalment
Made me laugh about it ever since.
My brother not so much.

They said when I go to college
My bubble will burst

At first, I didn't believe them
The parties and the alcohol were always out of site
The gangs and drugs too far for me to smell

Then one day it burst
I didn't feel it, like I thought
I thought, it would feel like cannonballing into a freezing pool
On the first day of summer

It was silent
Still
Like the moment after an inhale
Or a scream

After a student cries out
There's an active shooter
I didn't feel him knocking on my door to let him in
Instead, he crept around, found the hole in the fence

In that instant, my fragile walls
After years of carefully building
Crumble

The stranger sitting next to me
Now my brother, sister, in my home
Their faces of shock forever etched in my brain

The school is in lockdown
The blue bubbles of worries sent into space
Hoping something other than bad news will return
I could hear all the prayers being sent to heaven

I was sitting in the back row
Of the largest lecture hall on campus
I do not know if this killer wants to go out with a bang
If he did, this would be his target

Filled with eager, or bored, biology students
I never got this manuel
I do not know how to protect myself from a  machine gun

The mass of officials reporting words that used to feel foreign
They would never enter my world
But here they are, next to my forgotten socks
And broken promises
Shooter. Gun. Death. Blood. Knives.
Unsafe.
Unsafe.
Unsafe.

My brother is still asleep
Across the country
Full of turkey and thanks
Never of shock or horror

Once the news comes out, that it was
Just a car hitting people
Just a knife stabbing
Just injuries
Just hospital visits
Just one death
Just the culprit

Why do I feel relief
When my classmates were hurt
Yet I am releasing my breath
Somehow a car running over students
A knife stabbing friends
Was a relief to me
Because these deeds done by a monster
Are less than a gunnman
Why

If he had waited
Got stuck in a traffic light
Two minutes more
It would have been me

Every day I count my blessings
My bubble is still healing
It will reopen again soon
The memories will always be fresh

It is days like these that I am reminded of why
On that day back then
I was so scared to be in one of my favorite places
A school should never be a memorial

I wish I could reach through my LED screen
Tell the victims
I know
I know
I feel your feelings
I recognize those silent prayers
I too, have sent them myself
I too, will never forget the fear

I know this day will forever haunt you
It's pain will never cease
I hope I can help you rebuild your bubble
To make you a little more full

I watch the same white car drive by my window
Every day.
Each time, a little muddier.
Life is the most vicious of circles.
A whole structure of bells and whistles
Too deep under concrete
For our already ****** hands to dig up.

Is it truly a deja vu
If you're really seeing it again?

I lick clean the cold plate they serve revenge on.

The Devil is real
I made it breakfast.

The car slows down
and in the moment
so does the sound,
all I can hear is my heart.

The car stops and so do I,
as I start to cry
I let everything out
that was being held inside.

Wind whipping my hair.
The music filling the car.
Driving down the road.

Rogue winter,
frozen reeds,
catching wind with a whistling breeze.
Yellow streetlamp,
warm the night,
stay awake and burn so bright.
Speeding car,
icy road,
it flies headfirst into snow.
Shattered pond,
diamond glass,
her husband is just out of grasp.
Flashing lights,
foggy breath,
she tries to scream but no sound is left.
Underwater,
he sinks below,
she has never felt more alone.
Rogue winter,
hills of white,
blackened by this dark, dark, night.

She lived to see the day.
But he remains in that frozen, haunting, December midnight.