The man with a tear drop tattoo by his left eye
just winked at me with his right
I can't breathe
because of more than one factor:

this bus smells like the worst kind of bus stench.
this man is the sole reason the bus smells.
this man is a killer.

The tear drop was because:
"I put that guy to sleep, and he didn't wake up,
I did the crime and I did the time,
It's my way or the highway
to hell.
I'll see him there though."
With a laugh following each line.
Just the perfect heartless laugh,
that showed me exactly who this man was.
So I stopped breathing.

He has held a body so close to death
that he saw the last flashing images
of first love
lost love
unconditional love
and he pushed that body
into the light of the projector.
as he pushed,
he might have shielded his eyes
he might have stared, like a daring child at an eclipse.

he has held a body so close to death
that he heard the rattling croak of empty, thirsty lungs
and the swish of a cloak on a body so desperate for the warmth of another's pressed against its own.
he has held a body so close to death
that he could feel all the love held inside of it
like the flashing images were replaying and replaying
like a vhs rewinding and fast-forwarding
heating the corpse for the journey home.
he has held a body so close to death,
that for the job to be done
all he had to do was let go.