Crime scene photo of Colette MacDonald
The stench of death is putrid;
It’s impossible to ignore.
A chalk line drawn encasing
The majority of the gore.
A body once vigorous
Lying limp on the marble floor.
Her dress, made of white cotton,
Now blends with the ruby decor.
Arm outstretched, left hand, pointing,
Is missing the ring it once wore.
Eyes, completely unseeing,
Stare blankly at the broken door.
Life is fleeting and vibrant,
Death is dull and forevermore.