Flashbacks flood always on the fourth.
Frost covered roads, falling snow, round headlights. Laughing loudly about the abstract of love.
Two straws in a milkshake?
Late night hot chocolate?
...Hardly our idea
A joker he was, but he was serious when we gave that ring.
Crimson blush speckling my cheeks I eagerly said
Yes.
Now we drive bumper to bumper
slow traffic peaking his molten temper.
The car fell; it flew off black ice,
he holds my hand and clenches a fist.
He never let go.
The world ablaze on fire to the song of crickets.
Burn Unit: will hold my label, less sinister I suppose than his.
Morgue- at least it's better than here.
People won't remember his charred skin or broken bones.
Stubborn bastards, they choose what they want to see.
Flashbacks flood always on the fourth,
Behind the eyes of a marred living scar.
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