#OrlandoMassacre

Pulse-less.

laying – lifeless, still.

A state your iPhone, still calling,

was never made to save you from.

An incident

framed with hatred,

mixed with bitterness,

laced with the

stench of evil. of death.

of fear. of flesh – freshly torn.

Your mother’s heart.

Your father’s mind.

Your brother’s world.

Your partners dreams.

Your children’s hopes.

Your worst fears.

Realised. In sudden death.

A night of joy,

spent in transit.

To a place much brighter than this.

Somehow. Still silent.

Pulse-less.

Warmly growing cold.

Still.

Asleep. For ever.

The floor you danced on, adorned with your flesh –

your hair. your blood. your love.

Sudden. Too quick. Seamless scenes of

a raving apocalypse, begun by one public show of embrace.

And, now, as your lifeless body leaves,

you are forced to come

out once again.

To those who cannot

understand what

brought you here – what killed you here.

Held you hostage here. Silenced your song –

and killed the spring in your step.

Who struggle,  now,

in your sudden absence

coldly trying to make sense of nothing.

In the darkness of a pulse-less

night. Asking, slowly – from the depths of broken creation –

how?

when?

why?

We do not know.

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