being the last person on the night bus
makes me feel
so alone

it is quiet and warmthless
breath escapes me in fits and starts
shuddering me-fragments
slipping away
before i can catch them in my dumb pink paws.

i feel like i could sink so far inside myself
as to dribble out
a pathetic puddle of teenage girl(!)

i stick to people's shoes
they scrape bits of me off at the door,
trek me unwillingly inside.

i cling to couch fibres;
disunited, incoherent,
i am
i am itching on your collar
or collecting in the corner.

i will not let you forget me.

i have travelled far and thin
stretched myself out between the cracks --
oh no, ew --
little flecks of me harden, irritate
bit by bit
i am swept up and forgotten about.

(and meanwhile
i sit in a room
filled with particles of you
dusted off songs and old touches
all under my nails
i am all used up and
you are empty of me)

the bus stops
i am the last passenger
it is empty of all but light and direction
a grimy angel
and i pour out into the night,
this night is empty of me

and i evaporate,
of anything at all.

The End

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