images flicker across screens held tightly shut,
pulsing roars in ears that swear they heard whimpers.
It’s too late, in every scene,
flashing memories of what never happened
she always had that planned.
It would be raining angrily from cheeks
that were pale from realizing,
they never meant a thing.
It’s a dangerous reality these images bring,
one step closer to the real big screens,
we rung the rosie, she was the only to fall down
and she loved the feel of the cold earth
pressed into her cheeks, and prayed for forgiveness,
because there was none left in the coroners sheet.
It was too late to turn the tape back around.