Blood spackles, like pretty pictures in a morbid scene of expression. It pools in microscopic indentions in the concrete, assuring this scene can never fully be washed away. The only witness to the crime has been whisked away, in lieu of a chalk outline. Yellow tape ***** in the wind, waving goodbye to the lost. Red and blue flashes ricochet off of every surface, momentarily blinding the shadows before flicking back off.
I stand, back against a tree, still in shock. The gunshots still echo off of the swollen pavement, the clink of the falling brass rings in my ears. But yet, I survived.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
Blood spackles, like pretty pictures in a morbid scene of expression. It pools in microscopic indentions in the concrete, assuring this scene can never fully be washed away. The only witness to the crime has been whisked away, in lieu of a chalk outline. Yellow tape ***** in the wind, waving goodbye to the lost. Red and blue flashes ricochet off of every surface, momentarily blinding the shadows before flicking back off.
I stand, back against a tree, still in shock. The gunshots still echo off of the swollen pavement, the clink of the falling brass rings in my ears. But yet, I survived.
I dedicate this poem to all victims, both survivors and those lost, and also to families and friends affected by violence of any kind, anywhere in the world. #WeMustStandTogether
