Image credit: Philippe Caspar
https://philippecaspar.wixsite.com/sculpt
The blood wiped from her face
evaporates into red smoke
that always trails behind her.
The first inhale before it fades away
attaches to all her memories.
Her walls are now painted
in crimson and white stripes.
She looks upward and
heaven drips blood drops.
She looks downward.
Hell’s crimson river flows.
The accusing arrows
have her eyes as points.
No one sees them pierce.
They just remember
that she was the one
that danced naked in
a big hat at that festival.
The blood is there in him
even when the look is gone.
All the splatters mixed with
dirt are hidden away.
It exists beneath his sneer
and disdainful eyes.
He knows that
the bespectacled man
with the nice smile
is the last one they’ll
suspect of this crime.
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