Reckless

The night wore its dark coat  

heavy and loose on my shoulders.  

I mistook my bravado for bravery,  

a bottle my compass, no maps.  

The road whispered slow warnings  

I ignored like a reckless child.  

Rubber met asphalt, a clumsy waltz,  

headlights slicing silence into fragments.  

And then—soft thud, life interrupted.  

Fur crumpled, breath stolen mid-flight.  

I stumbled out, whiskey on my tongue,  

and found innocence under my wheels.  

Grief howls like a wounded dog,  

its teeth sharper than morning regret.  

I thank the stars for stopping there,  

no mother's son beneath my tires.