...an Inanimate - Yattering

An inanimate

Blood — red spot

Awakes curiobity

Of the crowd passing by Still warm pieces of A short life

Bits of human flesh

Deprived of shape

Reached by fate

Enhances common fear

Of the crowd passing by It’s fate breathes deep

It’s fate witers nearby

Smoking and coughing

Biting nails

He may recognize

Half — dried drops of blood

And a smell

The exciting fragrance

Of broken innocence

The tuth’s endangered

So off he goes

With a tear in his eye

And the same

Question — why?

Slowly he dissapears

Among the indifferent crowd

Passing by…