busses

now i’m one of the those dim lights
shooting across the freeway
my breathing only another negligible instrument
blended in the symphony of mechanical sighs of the bus
shipping me somewhere unfamiliar but friendly

a place where i’ve cried rivers
pounded earthquakes,
and sighed tornadoes.

now a chilly irony in a black waistcoat
sits comfortably beside me,
and i’m not even shocked,
it seems almost necessary.
now that i’ve got these sunken eyes,
my body an unhealthy tinge of grey.

i’m coming home,
painting the parallels of my journey,
illustrating the interlude of my first year alive.

i’ve arrived, there are quires serenading my return
crowds gathered to see my feet touch the soil

but i found a backdoor, a way out.
and before i find my company,
i find myself alone.
kneeling, with snow in my hands,
crushed glass and paper tears at my feet,
hoping, praying this place has answers for me.