Alrighty here. I know this is kind of long but please give it a chance! I'm really interested in hearing your thoughts on this piece. But please don't criticize or critique this one because I don't want that this time.
While, unfortunately, I didn't date this poem when I wrote it down, I can place it at about 2005. I think. Or before. I just remember writing it out on this piece of scrap paper and sticking it in my notebook. I found it about a month ago and thought I'd send it for a whirl on this site just for the heck of it. (the note at the end was attached at the time, not written when I posted it here, by the way)

So said, thank you for comments/thoughts but please no critiquing/criticizing this time around. Thank you so, so much. I will return reviews though, so, if you want something in particular read, please let me know in your review! (sorry this was also long! Ack, R&R please. Thank you.)

The Consequences

The deep and darkened silence,
That pain that I don't feel,
I see your tears and hear you cry,
But I can't reach out to hold you.
I wanna tell you it's okay,
But not a sound I make.
I try to let you know that I am here,
But I can't get to you.
I see people's faces that I've never seen before.
I see flashing lights and the dark sky,
But I can't figure out what's happened…
Blood soaks the ground,
Is it coming from my head?
What's happened to me?
What's going on?
I was only coming home!
Mama, what're they doing with me?
I remember flying from my car,
As a crash of terror filled my ears…
Mama, I still see your tears…
But they're so vague…
Mama…?
Where are you?
Mama, where'd you go!?
Why are they carrying me away?
Is that… Dad?
What's he doing here?
Why are you crying, Mama?
Is Dad too?
What's going on?
Where am I?
Where'd you go, Mama?
Why'd you leave?
I'm scared, I don't know what to do…
I wanna scream but I can't make a sound.
I wanna cry but not a tear will come.
I was only coming home…
I had been at Lindsay's…
I remember there was a truck,
Wit a man behind the wheel…
Didn't he see me?
Wait, why wasn't he in his lane?
Is that what happened, Mama?
Am I gonna be okay?
I can hear my heart beat…
I see white on painful walls…
I hear you… you're still crying.
Mama, why are you crying?
It's been weeks now,
Can't you tell that I'm okay?
I hear Daddy tell them they can go ahead and let me go,
Mama, what does he mean?
The darkness is too dark, Mama…
Please hold my hand.
I'm afraid…
I don't wanna go alone.

Anna Christine

Every day millions of teens are killed or badly injured due to drunk driving. Do something good and don't. The girl in this poem is a victim no matter how you look at it. Whether you want to believe that she killed herself by driving drunk or that the other driver killed her by driving drunk she is still a victim. Her parents are victims. The other driver is a victim. When you play this game no one ever wins, but everybody loses.