i am in a place unfamiliar to me.
the city creaks and groans when i move.
i am told that the world
is the biggest and oldest vessel, that
there have been millions of feet before mine
to tread here. surely, the world croaks
for them too. still, i am guilty for trespassing.
people pass the windows and it does not
occur to them that anyone could be looking from
above.

most people are busy with things
going on outside of their head.

the work is gone. the buzz has died.
i am being forgotten again,
as they do when the seasons change.
alone, i am reacquainted with those
twin sisters of discomfort,
being full of potential and
starved for ideas.

there are pieces of me now,
scattered across the country,
i left them behind in the move
on purpose, for ease.
the grief sets in a week later,
when my body realizes how little
there is left of what was, before,
a life already empty.

the house is in boxes. i am
shuffling them around in
different formations.
i clear a path, no real progress made,
then i step outside to smoke.
the city groans, sways, but remains upright.
i balance on the concrete steps, watch cars
swim by. the world chokes with me. we cough
together but i am entirely alone.