A simple lonely street corner
Indistinguishable from any other intersection
Her face poked in the window of a loft
I imagine that her eyes were green,
I could be wrong

My attention was interrupted by her stare
So inquisitive and curious, maybe 6 years old
I didn't see him coming
His hard brown eyes glaring over a crooked nose
And cracked teeth

I felt the wave of anger and desperation
As he slid the knife into my guts
Cold waves flew over my body
Slow-stop-motion as I fell to the ground
like a poorly drawn cartoon

His grip was rough as he took my wallet
My fingers drenched in crimson
The concrete grew slick beneath me
I didn't try to grasp his arm or stop his hand
Or even acknowledge him above my pain

Each beat of my heart spilled life's precious blood
As I became the paint to a concrete canvas
Smeared sloppily without painterly strokes
A professional background of uneven greys
With a child-like smear of crimson

I reached out frantically as the temperature dropped
It was so impossibly cold in this temperate spring
Her face still pressed against the old bay window
Her expression never changed as I reached for her
Her innocence was lost
In a human painting of concrete and crimson