"Cool Drain" by: MHD

The cool is slow blue steam settling slow motion across empty asphalt split by yellow cabs in the night. Spreading warmth from the hands of a cop touching frail iced up veins in the pale arms of her tragedy. A white line broken in places, reflecting street-lamps, looks like tracers shooting up the street. Her angle is crooked and blurred with the haze of daze on this cool effect. Wrapped up in needles broken under foot as an ambulance parts steam clouds like a ship born from glacier. Like salvation on wheels but not for her. Blue lips part with cool inspiration as her last breath mingles with steam and floats above the scrambled scene on the curb below.

She settled on this cool drain into nothing. She dies by choice.

Giving birth to nothing but a sad soul ejected by mouth and floating in spirals over the wrong side of town.

Even here the lights are beautiful.

Originally posted on October 5, 2006 on Myspace.

This poem was eventually published in Volition Magazine.