Why Are You The Only One Saved?

Drowned
in a horrible well.

Murdered
in a tungsten-lit alley,
strangled.

Washed ashore
with no eyes.

In a quarantine unit, finger lightly pricked
four days ago and internal organs liquefied,
eyes haemorrhaging.

In a decaying ward,
far from anyone to give their love.

In a bathroom,
white-tiled, bright light,
with a blood-spitting mouth.

Frothing and seizing outside,
in hard frozen mud on an ordinary day.
Going somewhere.

Splattered across a TV set by a shotgun,
disconnected.

Dead from the cold
in a church doorway.
It’s all your fault.

Underneath the water of a river,
in a car. Flooded by water.

Forgotten, maybe even left to starve,
a building built on top. No one knows.

Beautifully, cut to pieces
with a serrated steak knife.

Happily, with heroin.

Crying, frightened, executed.
Or falling, stupid, over.