Aesthetics of a Crisis

She cries waves
drinks haze
longs for the stillness
of her shaking legs

The beats on her eyelids
echo the drama
of her 'pardon - pardonne-moi'
'tu n'es pas censée voir ça'

There's a cut on her foot
for the storm has not past
and the quivers tear up 
her skin
on the asphalt

'Take her away please,
can't you see that there's blood?
she shouldn't have to deal with this
i'm the one looking after her'

The machines are beeping now
heart monitor in free fall
'stay with us' they say
but she's already gone

For there is no more breathe
to keep her awake

and all she can hear

are the sirens

sirens