I've realized after how much time has passed
the rest of the cars drive on when yours has crashed,
and no matter the trauma the accident has caught
they blame it on you if the explosion is brought.
Fire, smoke- they tell you to call
even though you're lying where God said you'd fall,
bleeding and screaming without a voice.
You ask to die quickly, but this isn't your choice.
The engine is burning, your skin is scorched;
hair as dry as straw, your lips are torched,
and the tongue that once gave you the chance to say
how much you love your family is gone that day.
The windows are melting, the door caves in;
blue flames crawl and sting beneath your skin.
You wriggle in the heat begging for an escape-
a drop of water or a fire blanket to drape,
but nobody comes, they have places to be
while you suffer in the gorge of your tragedy.
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