96 BUS

Thin air crystalizes into glass

As I bang my fist against it

over and over again. A reality

born from nothing. A big bang of my

thoughts and emotions

Shattered glass cuts my fist.

Blood seeps through my cinnamon

fingers. Not a tear. There is no pain. Just

the scream stuck in my throat. What escapes

is a fake breath.

A glimpse of myself through the 96's windows

No blood is visible. No thoughts translated into

objects. No shattered glass

against my fist.

Only the lines on my forehead and my sad smile.

*Washington DC

28 May 2014