Radio Silence

I see you
face against the window
watching
the blood spill

You scrawled the walls
with scarlet wounds
of your own

And then you went silent.

It was a rush
to get past the body
and wander in the forest.
of your decadent mind

Maybe pain was not to be a spectacle.
Maybe you are living.
Maybe it is easier to watch us
weave our fantastical
self-perceptions into
some array of order
or disorder.
And maybe you are just tired
of trying to make sense out of any of it.

If the words cease,
I can still see your face
against the window
watching
the blood spill.