Crash

You feel, already,

like a hole in the road;

I bump over it,

veer off the path ahead.

And crash.

Fire, pain, and danger.

In the dark of night,

no one will see the car;

no one will hear,

because I won’t shout.

At least, as the rain falls,

the fire might burn out.

I couldn’t possibly guess.

Hope tells me

that the hole

in the road

might be fixed;

common sense tells me this lane

is better off closed.

Some things, though, are certain:

I won’t drive again,

the hole in the road will get worse,

and I will always have burns,

brusies.

Fire, pain, and danger,

off road and alone.

I am burnt,

and this is the end,

because this is the end.