I sit with intravenous headphones
             a dopamine drip          
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander

we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
              shuffling        
bright as the undead

one seat from me
              he's balding        
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
uneavendly.
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward

In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
             or crippled        
             or elderly        
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
            even over the bald man        
            even over the chugging motor        

At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
           yes        
and makes sounds
          yes, thats right, bus        
and groans
         it's okay, you'll see mum soon      
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor

Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform

Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
          as are her eyes        
fingers fiddle at the purse
         pursed lipped, she smiles      
... at the bus driver

Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation

          and she sits      
          and they sit

I'm feeling so bitter, so ugly.
These gross feelings that torment -
        Like an addict,  I welcome them,
But reluctant, and hating every second.
  I find I cannot let go
Of the passions that I grasp.
             I'm an evil soul, inside and out.
Oh help me, God, I am so lost!
Lost in the confusing swirl
Of right and wrong and grey.
The truth is found by reason,
               But the same can justify hate.
Oh, my God, oh, my God:
I beg for all the things to *****
And out, out, to go and free -
Give me liberty from this plague
      Which is me.

The universe baby birds knowledge
*** to mouth
and you wonder why the lives of the wise are always so
******.
You think you’re woke but just repeat tropes created by
people selling a lifestyle that puts on trial the idea that being
standard is wild.
Kaleidoscope fractal of reality’s gaping ****** *******
wraps the goal of happiness in a cloak of human nastiness.
This crawl through life is so full of strife
that we spend the majority of it looking for someone
to moan and groan with as the bone is exposed
from the scrapes and cuts we earn when we're alone.

And I am alone.

I used to see us out there.

But now I see a social climber and an animal.

He is wearing better shoes.

And it's ******* gross.

Stuck like honey,
The budding lily shrinks and quivers.
Those sticky fingers
Grab at her colours.
At every angle they pick and choose,
And pinch at her delicate petals.
They, starving customers
And she, a farmer's market.
Breath hot like summer suns,
Mouth dripping like spring rains.
Where can she go, trapped here
Surrounded by sticky fingers.
Endure it a little longer Lily,
Your stop is up next!

They hold an untold truth,
that is linked to you.
Listen to the sounds,
As they slither around.
Coiled and twined,
Growing in size.
Latched on to your screams,
As they enter your dreams.
Fight the battle long and hard,
Until they are nothing but shards.
But the truth will still remain
until your emotions are slain.