the lion has escaped its cage
and it has run throughout the streets
in its hate soaked rampage.
and you remain calm as you grab your jacket.

people are screaming.
can't you hear them?
there's death out there
and pain and fear.
but you slip on your wet shoes
and you tip your hat.

i need you to stay.
you have to stay.
not for my safety
but for yours.
i can't lose another.
please say you'll stay the night.
or at least until i can breathe again.
please.
please.
just stay.

so many are in the street,
bleeding,
that the black road now resembles dark wine.
so you smiled a goodbye,
and you walked out the door.

did you not hear the voices grow louder?
the roars grow closer?
the pain grow unbearably near?

i fled to the window.
and saw you jog to the sidewalk.
and you began to leave me,
back turned,
like everyone else.
but unlike before,
you left without me pushing you,
you left on your own accord.
and now its all my fault.

i never thought to grab my coat.
i never even put on my shoes.
i ran after you, silently,
although inside i was screaming your name.
i reached for your sleeve,
and i grabbed air.

teeth pierced skin.
blood flooded across clothing.
and the pain should have appeared, but it didn't.

because it was not you who was there
when the lion came around.

no, you weren't that near.
you didn't fear.
and you didn't sink down in pain.

no.
because the one person who feels no pain
when blood is spilt,
was torn limb from limb,
bone from bone,
cell from cell,
memory from memory.

and for the last minute,
when i lay in the street,
and my cold skin
(because i was foolish enough to forget a coat)
began to warm from the ruby blanket,
i saw your last expression.
your last acknowledgment.


a smiled goodbye,
and a tip of your hat.



and before i could even think your name.
the world stopped.








the lions were always my favorite exhibit.