it sinks in
like looking at
the remains of a road accident
the mangled metal
flung against the half-uprooted tree
all still. all
quiet. all spent
all hurt left to
the imagination
blood, caked.
dried
dark red i guess
but then i’m
colourblind
in thin streaks
down the cracked
window shield
and a stain on the
headrest
a puddle on the
seat
tyre marks on the
road
and blood. dried
in streaks
cracked. cold
and i’m sick
the bodies have
been long taken
the eyewitnesses
tired of retelling their tale
always beginning
with what they were doing
how they looked
up, looked out
the rubber
screeching
the wild swerving
the noise
the whirring
the shouting
the broken…
the mind fills in
the rest taking cues
from the tranquil
menacing silence
creating for
itself the images of violence
the backdrop of
hurt
gathered
from the normalcy
of your gestures
- a poor disguise
from the abrupt
pause
or the odd word
dropped
as you talk on when
there is nothing
to say
from the stillness
in your eyes
that gives you
away
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