Non-breathing bodies laying;
flooding the spaces of the staircase-
a orange-shirted lady stepped with her own two feet
on a mundane's legs and screamed, cried,
her voice hoarse with panic, pain and more screams.
On the verge of breaking,
and her beating heart was dying as it screeched.
The only thing I did was shout your name-
the one they never really called you with.
Like a murderer looking behind with guilt,
you stared at me- or perhaps through me.
Because I couldn't embrace or touch your lips-
neither could I do anything to wake you from this nightmare,
that's why it was only your name.