There was once a part of myself here.
Graveyard whispers, as I drive by the "place" for the first time. I take it slow, so slow that in mid morning traffic I'm honked at. I don't care though. They don't know, they will never see the wheel, the road, the color of the dash board, how quickly glass shatters, until they've actually seen it. (I hope they don't, but some people just ask for it) There's always crosses on the sidewalk here, a stretch of road so dangerous that it should be demolished; if you want my opinion. My mother cries when she thinks about my name being on the sidewalk, like the pool of blood that has already washed away. A little part of myself remained here, even after they took me away in the ambulance. Its funny how silent it becomes, all of the sudden when I see it- and feel it all over again. The car crashed. The car turned. I spun. Dead; translates to alive in Gods silvery palm (I've always been a person against violence, but I swear if I ever come face to face with either of them; God, or "Him" I don't know what I'll do.) I drive by. Over. And. Over. Lost. In this place that I know so well. I breathe quick. Eye. Ball. Fallen. I can't look away. I speed up--stop--and--go again--I--live--I--died--but I have to go on again.