My muse, the armed robber rapist

A man tried to rob me and ended up shooting himself.

I sit here wiping blood
off my hands, onto the screen.
It was only a dream of faraway lands.
I shudder awake
like someone watching me sleep.
Only the droning on
in tearless monotone,
a toll booth operator
closing the eyelids of the dead
and I missed my exit
wound through his back.
On my hands
elbow deep in red,
the fear in his eyes
like the descending sun before me.
“Help me man”
I stand in judgment
Godlike
as his life pumps and eddies
down the side of the road
in rattling karmic finality.
Minutia consumes me in a breath
my soul balanced on a pin
the shuffling in of voyeurs
“Give me your shirt”
white and then red
the ever closing circle of heads.
“I am a nurse”
pushing through I stumble away
to sit and think
puppet like dangled on the edge
my arms sticky and numb
waiting on the sound of sirens.