The Unsupervised Stop Sign

Blazing sun stuns my eyes, sunglasses offer no respite. Clammy hands tremble, as the steering wheel begins vibrating. Arsenic heat suffocates, wrapping its hands around my neck. Parched lips beg to hydrate, but 'Jeptha Creed' increases the intensity. Thunder rumbles through my body, as lightning strikes in 'desert storm' flashbacks - all I see is red flags, red lights and red rage. Feet seem cemented trying to find the break, then stumble trying to regain control. Dazed thoughts slowly crumble, searching for green to go. Metal medley of machine guns, bloodshot, go bang, bang, bang, as all around begins to fall down. Grenades and strident screams reverberate like bombastic echoes, over and over again, boom, boom, boom, like a broken record with deep inherited scratches, resembling resurfacing scars, left behind from mangled wounds. Head is spinning like a bike wheel, spasms are speeding, unable to halt. I scream at graphic memories of fallen comrades, cursing, why I was the last man standing.