The car is eviscerated.
A symphony of grinding,
a chorus of popping,
an aria of exploding,
the sad clapping of hard metal
cutting into soft trees.
Everything is fine.
I climb up the embankment
to see the car.
It's a metal skeleton,
without seats,
without passengers.
I see a hand, my hand
The blood from my chest has
S
E
E
P
E
D
through my shirt and is
pooling on the virgin snow.
I spin away.
This cannot be happening.
Please wake up!
It's cold.
My breath should smoke.
It doesn't.
Wake up!
But I can't.
I don't.
It isn't long after that the sirens come.
YOU ARE READING
Through Her Eyes
PoetryJulia knows about paper hearts like broken windows and blue children in a world of grey souls. She knows what it's like to bloom and what it's like to wither away until there is nothing left. But a car wreck can change everything in an instant. Su...