May 9
Voices saying nothing.
Never stopping.
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Music from nowhere
“I feel bad for her fiancée or whatever he is”
I know your face.
I’ve seen your insides.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Empty eyes.
Empty smile.
“Like no offence to her but she’s too shy”
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Pounds to tons.
Routine to chaos.
Maybe we’ll die,
But maybe I’ll fly.
Never stopping.
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Music from nowhere
“I feel bad for her fiancée or whatever he is”
I know your face.
I’ve seen your insides.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Empty eyes.
Empty smile.
“Like no offence to her but she’s too shy”
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.
Pounds to tons.
Routine to chaos.
Maybe we’ll die,
But maybe I’ll fly.
From many years ago. Rode a bus, as usual. Heard conversations, as usual. Was saddened by the callous, casual judgment some seem so happy to heap upon others, as often.
