Bracing for impact.

As the plane nosedives slower;

It seems when in truth,

It is two hundred

Forty-five miles an hour.

Will god please help us?

But it seems he is

Off the clock, on a lunch break.

The smoke poured out and

I can't see my own

Two feet. I could not breathe as

We felt the impact

Tremor through us, like

We had run out of time, and

I did not make it.

Daddy digs my grave;

He wipes his tears on his sleeve,

And lays flowers down.

Wishing he had not

Let me go with my mommy.

She had made it though,

He still blames her for

The crash and my life. Listen,

Daddy... it'll be okay.