poems, prose and
other pretty words
© 2010-2014
Chel Mercado

                      Runaway 

					  
awake  and wondering where you  are

the  nightmares never stop, you know.



	I  see  your  smile  inside my head

		but the blood, the bodies scattered

	on the road,  arranged like ragdolls-

		pedestrians that appeared to be
	
         	 respite's silent refugees.



The car couldn't be caught. It sped,
too scared to stop, police had said,
for  fear  they'd  find  the  firearms

strapped in the back, like a baby on board
 

            or baby in a stroller,  silent beside

a  corpse with curly hair    and an uncanny
resemblance to man, shaking, on the side
picking up pieces    of glass    and  plastic.