The Fun It Ends

The windows pane upon my face, The door unlocks, I fall from grace. My friend he screams, a crunch of steel, Stabs of pain, then the blood I feel. The car we stole, a ride of joy, Treating it like a tonka toy. Speeding 'round the Mumbles mile, Off our heads for a little while. Pass the chippy, towards the pier, We hear the sirens, "The cops are near". Faster, faster, we approach the bend, This so called "joy" is about to end. Headlights shine from the road ahead, Then when I wake, my mates are dead. Broken limbs, a mangled wreck, The sense of warmth from my swollen neck. I try to move off the cold damp floor, My legs and arms I feel no more. The scents of fuel, blood and smoke, I try to breathe, but can only choke. I hear a voice coming close to me, I tried to look, but could not see. These words I tell about this night, From a darkened world, now I have no sight..... I was asked to write a piece about the crime of so called "joy riding"