not poetic just struggling

When shock hits you like a ten tonne truck
When the bile, thick and yellow and burning, rises
When you realise that
No matter what you do
No matter your intentions, hopes and values
You will have to just stand by

Or perhaps kneel
Or collapse
Knowing that you are not in control
Not your decision
You cannot be the hero
This time

And now I am frozen
Zombie focused and the edges are
Blurry

Not knowing is worse
The imagination jumps on the train
No ticket, no limits
And plummets down
To the worst, and best
Possible outcomes
They are both unthinkable.

A dirt incrusted house, thick curls
Of cigarette smoke lingering
The putrid smell of dirty diapers
Anger visibly crackling against the
Windows
A stream of obscenities, a hysterical child
A baby playing in a pool of stale beer.

And a miscarriage is preferable
And she is only 17
And he is only 16
And she makes me want punch her
In her stupid, smug, drug fucked, attention seeking
Repercussion avoiding
Face.