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Oct 2021
The bus is not so full now,
through the glass the sky begins to redden,
my bag's on my lap,
my eyes are on the road.
In this rectangular metal box
I pierce the city's veins,
watch them pump, pulsate
with people I may, or may not, meet someday.
Ꭷ Ꮇ Ꮛ Ꮐ Ꭺ
Written by
Ꭷ Ꮇ Ꮛ Ꮐ Ꭺ  23/M/NotFoundYet
(23/M/NotFoundYet)   
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