At the Bus Stop

I wanna go home, but the bus isn’t on time. Waiting makes me wondering, and I don’t like the feeling. However, here’s what I’m thinking: “I didn’t give you any virulent poison or anything, right? I wonder how you can fall so easily. I don’t like to lie but if I should, I think I could be so bitterly hostile and lie. I could just say I wanna die, I could just say I would always try. But hell no I didn’t even lie. And you would still fall quite easily. I know people think you’re a genius. How can a genius fall? You fall without giving any signal, you fall even day by day. Are you lost already? Am I making myself clear? Obviously not, since you’re still there on your knees.”

Jam Today Jam Tomorrow

Maybe I’ve tried some sort of determination. The allegiance of pain, I blame my adolescent. Maybe I’ll try going straight to my destination – letting go the multitude of trespasses. Million messages are your personal solitude. And you’re still too kind. And I go. And I try. And you’re still around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forget my questions. These are demands.