The lit cigarette had merely grazed her face,
And yet the mark was radiant.
The blood falling slowly on her purple lace,
Now that wasn’t so salient.
It no longer mattered, of course;
As if she had time to care.
Her concern lay with quenching its source,
But all she could do was sit and stare.
So what does one do in the face of violence?
One could at least break the silence.