It’s the morning when I’m cut on a key, after the day they came to be, to spite those that stoke the fire and flee. A fated day drives me insane, total one, day two. I’m trying to drive and they’re trying to light a match in my mind. What do people think, what do they see, how do I act, will I hurt me? Who am I to drive, where do I turn, when do I start, why does it burn? How do I stop, eyes crossed, too lost, they must hate the way I drive, they must all be laughing at the fear they see in my thoughts. I step into the third person where he tends to stay, and he’s left in control while having the least embodied days, he’s frozen and it’s helpless to stay. I survived a crash beyond my mind, seeing how helpless I was to even cry.  Lines of perspective and persona lay waste to the challenges that face me but equally lay waste to me when the lines become too challenging to face. I was a spectacle of embarrassment and what I truly felt wasn’t worth the shame of revealing, much less feeling. One totaled car on my second day driving. I couldn’t see what time would reveal to me, why my brain works in response to anxious, embarrassing flames. It was a lesson I should’ve already learned and been taught but no, I was spaced out and forgetful to the point of being a lost cur. That day was proof to my family that I was worse when I’ve only ever tried to be close. They were the ones who could drive in the cutthroat life I’d vehemently despised. It was a joke I’m made to claim, destroying something so perfectly without even getting scraped. I was never laughing, no matter how motivating the shame. No one was there to heal the pain that day claimed, but us. You tried to be kind and not let it bleed through to those we knew, but he wasn’t ready to leave, and I hadn’t realized we’re me. Months pass and I can feel him kick the back of my seat, but a bone healed so strong as that day rings rungs, rungs, rungs on the impatience beneath my lungs.