Cigrette-Butts and a car ride home

I can't quite remember how it happened,
But i know that it did.

And even though I can't remember it,
I can never forget it.
Burned into the back of my mind Like a cigrette-butt
smashed against the car side,
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.

I can't tell you the details,
except the fact that there are details to the tale.

A small innocent girl,
dragged out to a club with her friends.
Fake ID's,
Fake eyelashes.
Fake...everything.

And then a drink,
a dance,
and a car ride home
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.

And yes, I cannot tell you that I might remember some of it,
But I remeber that his translation of my "No" was a big fat yes.

You cant undo the past,
Not with all the time machines,
and worm wholes,
you try to open.
You can't erase or take back...or get back,
what was taken.
Because once it is ripped from you by an inch of your dignity,
It  explodes in the sun and turns into body glitter and ciggrette-butts,
and a car ride home,
and a police report,
and a foggy vision of things that happened that you canot rember and can't forget.