Murder At 7: 45 P.M. Poem by Erwin Maramat

Murder At 7: 45 P.M.



Sirens blaring and rushing at the scene; Blue and red gliding on the surface of windows of indifferent onlookers who are stretching their necks as far they could,
Before being a resident of a chalk outline in a back alley,
I can imagine light growing dim in her eyes, like a dying ember bracing itself against the cold November air,
I can imagine life gushing out and spirit walking toward the light,
Cold steel driven into her heart without mercy,
At exactly 7: 45 p.m. and not a second more, love was murdered.
Pronounced dead on the spot.
All the king's horses and all the king's men cannot stitch her up ever again.
The suspect: boredom—armed with a rabid tooth and a pair of laser eyes.
Autopsy report indicates that word upon word cut her deep, deep enough for her soul to leak, so vile, so insidious the arresting officer Eros dare not speak.
Upon careful examination it was established that two strangers who in the beginning were faceless and nameless fell, and the counselor states otherwise;
According to Einstein gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love, but is friction held in such terrible esteem, when sparks fly, erogenous zones come in contact creating friction.
Love was invited in this union, but over time boredom also received an RSVP who contemplated this tragedy.
At 7: 45 p.m. the world stood still, tears flooded tissues.

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