Self Awareness is a Drag

I feel like life is a slow motion car crash sometimes, and I'm the only one still in real time. I can see exactly where one moving object will collide with another causing much destruction. I scream out. I plead with the drivers to change course, even by just a fraction of an inch. Don't they see what they are doing? I'm the only one who can see what will happen, but i'm powerless to stop it. Like a dream, it repeats and I watch as the cars line up on their collision courses and accelerate only to come to a sickening stop as steel bends around steel and glass and plastic shatter littering the crash scene with a joyless confetti. The twisted metal pings and ticks as it cools combining with the steady drip of fluids onto the hot pavement into a funeral dirge for the destroyed machines and the shattered lives encased in their wreckage.  A second drip joins the requiem, as opaque scarlet drops mix with the ebony oil and neon green coolant pooling on the blacktop. Broken and battered flesh is cut from the wreckage to be healed and set out again only to repeat the same stupid mistakes, only to smash again and again into oncoming traffic, and all the while my warnings go unheeded, and my pleadings are dismissed, as the crashes continue.