The Accident

A white car in fog heading towards her
driving home his points and ideas
with no lights on
so nobody sees him coming.
But they break down –
The metaphors that is

He should have called it a mini van
His ghost child trailing behind him.
But it’s a fog eat fog world in here
Where everything slips through fingers
And she questions if he’s even real
Because she’s always been a cynic
Or so it seems
As she secretly covers a deeply dug pit
of hope
that waits to be filled
Because she’s always been a dreamer
Or so it seems
As she secretly swallows a premeditated handful
of sleep
that waits for no one

And she realizes what is happening
too late
and just in time

Now it’s all just a stinging cheek,
a tear streak, a journal page, and a drawing from the girl in the room down the hall, who also walked in socks to the attendance sheets that set them free…
And by free, we mean from the walls of daycare and the restless nights and the twitching of the cocaine addict and the heads that speak like talking to children, their eyes making sure we didn’t find our shoelaces – God forbid;
For freedom is different for those trapped by their own skull and skin

And he drives to the coast
To submerse himself in freezing water
To let the waves crash instead of him
Because we’re all trying to be alive and asleep simultaneously
Because we’re all looking for someone who might pretend to care, even for a second, about our shattered dreams and broken expectations
Because we’re all in a silent state of solitary confinement, just looking to make eye contact

(But they break down)

And maybe there’s no fog where he came from
So who’s really to blame?