Twain’s voice lifts

Which conflicts

With what is about to happen.

 

I hear them gasp

And feel the joyous mood collapse

As the car crosses the yellow line.

 

Everything moves to slow

While my thoughts flow

Far too fast.

 

An explosion of sound

Begins to pound

Into my ears.

 

Colors have never been so bright

While the seat buckle bites

Into my bruised hip.

 

The smell of smoke

Makes me choke

Along with this reality.

 

Fire dances along the broken windshield glass

Explains the smell of gas

That seeps through the smoke.

 

My head bleeds

Helping to feed

The air with the stench of copper and loss.

 

Everyone is louder than me

As they plea

For our lives.

 

The seat is painted in blood

Which flows like a flood

From Joey’s head as he begs for help.

 

Mom’s screams

Team

With fear and pain.

 

Nana’s hateful degrading

Is slowly fading

As she struggles to breath.

 

I whisper that we will all be fine

But go unheard for the car whines,

It is defeated too.

 

Pain itself is alive

And deprives

Us of the will to survive.

 

I just can’t believe

The way the fates weave

Tragedy into my life.

 

It’s all such a shame

That Nana’s hand will never be the same.

That Joey will forever bare the scars on the outside.

 

That a bit of Mom’s spark died.

That now I can’t ever brush aside

The feeling that death sits in the back seat, waiting.

 

This crash

Left more than a dent and a bash

In the front of that KIA