what happens when these things happen

there wasnt enough blood
for how much glass
(like a water balloon against a door
a childish prayer for someone to come out)
splattered and splayed
still and staying
put.

the sounds of dogs barking woke me up. an angry un-understandable language, layers of it, building and building upon each other until this scarily silent breaking point. i sat on the stairs and wasnt tired. i watched the sun come up and i remembered how the sound of his voice made the car tremble.
something about pushing so far that the pain of it becomes a relief. something about remembering what we already know, about being forced to remember it in a way we havent ever before. something about laughing in the thick of it, when i thought we might as well crash into a concrete wall (theres no need to be afraid of him grabbing the wheel and hurdling us into our untimely deaths. he already was).

the light came through my curtains and i lulled myself to sleep with the sound of their "s"s echoing in the kitchen.
i realized that sometimes you cant see the blood until the sun comes up the next day, when the bits of glass drown in the puddle of it.