To that Road that wasn't very Revolutionary

I held her under the faucet, and she laid still, like a bird pausing in the grass, then the thrashing began, it was sad, furious thrashing, and she scratched my wrists and flung wet stains to my dress, and then the yelping began, the scream that froze in rivets in the stream, and finally that calm when the bird settled in the green.

I pray to God that He won't find me.