There’s a body on the side of the road

It’s insides leaving a stain streaked across the pavement and the cars keep driving by and there’s not enough for me to know what or who it was and it’s heart 

Every day this week I’ve seen a new body,

it’s insides on its outsides,

tossed on the side of the road

sometimes one carcass on either side

of the gravel painting it’s charcoal a 

muddy streak of crimson and I don’t know

where it ends and where it begins and

I don’t know what it used to be

It’s shape no longer existent, if asked to

identify I would shrug and say

I don’t know this face

This morning I drove by a curled up

slumbering carcass on the side of

the road, resting in a bed of its own

insides. the crime scene almost

serene, as if a murder had not taken

place. it’s fur still intact even though

it’s empty of gushing out everything

it once was. I wonder if it hurt. the

killing. or if it was like falling asleep.

was it’s hitting the same as the

moment just before hitting the pillow,

drifted off into what it thought was

just another dream? or did it feel

the collision of skin to steel, hear

the horrific crunching of its own

frame as it’s underbelly was torn

open. did it see its heart fly across

to the other side of the pavement,

confused as to why it no longer

felt it’s beating in its chest, suddenly

everything is so light, lighter than it

ever was supposed to feel and maybe

it was too fast to even know this was

it’s last moments of existence and

it looks so peaceful you’d never know

it ever suffered