645

645 days — since it was all torn —

Bittersweet rain — holding out the sun —

White hot rage — inside —

And outside are obscene obstacles

Made vicious with the downpour.

____________

A crushing tempest — a baseless fabric —

I hurtle a 1,000 miles per hour — it hurts —

Means I can't do it:

run; jump; say namaste;

swim down snowy pistes;

or sit comfortably in a chair.

____________

Glass explodes — only at me —

It slices my eyes

And it has ever since.

Summer fails

As the laptop pathetically falls — I can't bear the weight —

Nor the break of water,

So the crash in my back

Disintegrates me.

____________

Colour drains — down twisted razored chrome —

And I am tired of fighting,

like an abused dash,

As all fierce anger fails;

Goes the way of the white dwarf,

But gravity acts as an anchor

Made of pain

It pulls me under.

____________

A pen shakes.

Nerves burn away

Like the fire turning to despair.

Tomorrow is? Today's enough.

That storm slits back by

For it's made of me.

A bus broke me.

And happiness left me.

Now, even the noise is too much for me

Just like this —

________________________

645 days ago I was a survivor of a fatal bus crash which left me with severe spinal injuries. Despite compelling evidence that the owner of the bus is alleged to be responsible for multiple crimes, including the death of our fellow passenger, and responsible for my injuries — doing so, by allegedly sending out an unsafe bus that was overbearing weight by 200-500%+. Despite the extraordinary length of time this investigation has taken; we are yet to see any charges laid. The accused, Patrick Bedford, remains a prominent member of the NT tourism industry and Chairman of Central Tourism Australia.

Sadly, my spinal and neck injuries have continued to degrade and damage my body to the point where they will require major surgery; beyond this, my injuries include: PTSD; panic attack disorder; anxiety; unknown collapsing unconscious: and depression. It has resulted in these injuries being life-changing. All leaving me with little to no mobility. And a mixture of emotions, and migraines, which explode through me, like the inside of that bus, these are anger, sadness, grief, despair, injustice and rage. My life has been stolen from me —