Vehira

My eyes begin to blink And then it makes it hard to see Water-like bubbles fill my sight Are these tears or are they not What is this pressured sickness That I've come to develop Is it stress-related Or is it masochistic A tendency without a cure So I bite my nails and tear my skin Staring at the stinging flesh With no mercy for myself I wince in pain No condolence The righteous crusade In which I sole use Aching teeth and tender tips Pencil lead and endangered tissue Evidence of this massacre Wiped away Saliva cannot hope to stay Hard pink shells have no defenses Against the artillery unleashed upon them Raw red flesh

Sandra wiped away a tear from her eye at the image and text message from her cousin. She and her husband moved here to London to continue their career in animation together. Now he was gone. Caught in the explosion of a double-decker bus that Thursday of July 07, 2005; pretty much today. She continued her stride, shoving her camera flip-phone back into her jeans pocket. She'd call her boss later to tell him that she was going home due to a death in her family. This subway line wasn't closed, and Sandra was thankful. Then she saw police men and the canine-crew invade the underground railroad. Each officer had guns at his waist and another in