It feels like a cat
clawing its way up my leg
digging into my back
cutting into my spine
producing a shake in my entire frame
traveling up into my teeth
chattering as I wait
for the next bus.

A writer gawps at society,
I went to a bus stop after tea,
Littered with used syringes,
Drugs evolving, slightly unhinges,
Why do we accept this as normalcy?
It's a challenge for the authorities,
Or for changing norms in society..........

i stayed until midnight
standing at the bus stop
waiting to go to the airport
to the board the plane
to the moon

because i heard
it doesn’t shine as bright

now that it has you

I trust the bus to take me home,
I must adjust to how I roam,
From here to there,
With the slowest four wheels,
From stop to stop,
This doesn’t appeal,
To my sense of speed,
I have places to be,
Not only that,
But I have to ***.

on the bus ride home, watching houses blur,
you turn to me and say, "it's going to be okay."
i nod, earphones in and hood up. not okay.
the day didn't go as planned, we got lost
and we spent the day finding ourselves.
summer has just started, but my hands are cold
and my complexion pale, i'm skeletal and rigid;
dark eyes and thin, boney arms. i'm decaying.

the sun casts light onto the window, lighting up
the raindrops like stars on a summers day.
they lead the way home, asteroids going down.
the music plays loudly, cutting all ties from outside.
you can't hear, but the music is sad and i'm trying not to cry.
i smile when you turn to me, nodding quietly.
you can't see, but i'm decaying inside.

Waiting for you is like
Being the passenger on a bus next to the window seat.
No matter how crowed it gets.
No matter the amount of stops the driver makes.
Being next to the window is the best seat.
Viewing the world inside out.
The nooks & crannies, a part of you that is rarely seen.
Being the passenger
Lost in thought.
Waiting for you gives a certain sensation.
The sensation that there is something to be had,
building great anticipation.
Giving a chance to sit back & reflect.
Thinking the thought of maybe if not this stop.
Maybe it's the next when the driver finally hits the air brakes.
Being the passenger next to the window.
Viewing the world inside out.
The nooks & crannies, a part of you that is rarely
seen.
But eventually every bus has to make it's last stop.
No matter how long the ride

The expectation is a huge dictator
‘Cause we only get what we pay for
If unhappiness is a way of thinking
Of always being happy, then you’re dreaming
You create another problem
In thinking you should have none of them

Roadblocks are part of the path
Denying them will let the burden lasts
A time comes when you step on a ****
Also, a time comes of an angel’s meet
As peace is never the lack of violence
Rather contentment in the midst of confused silence

You don’t prefer a hard life, you shouldn’t
You just prepare to be less unprepared, why you wouldn’t?