poem. 12/11

memories, it will slide into a random day.

the screech of the train arriving at the stop, you’ve forgotten to grip onto the pole. The sweat pooling around your fingertips causes you to slip, the shock from your fall drives your teeth into your tongue but teeth is not an anchor. This is real life.

spills out of a reservoir of our mind, the body does not care that you are in public, today adds to the irredeemable scoreboard. The railways take you everywhere but this campus stays with you.

it jostles, it slams, to cushion your fall you are on your knees. The floor is cold. Suddenly you are grateful you live in a city of the forgetful, the apathetic. How many people have collapsed on the train before you and they have been tiptoed over them...like their pain is contagious. Humiliation is a full body feeling.

to push out any malevolent recollections, you dream of becoming someone wholesome and recognizable, even if you were to be smeared across the tracks or splayed across the floor, acknowledgement would be due.

the doors open, providing you a way out. This dance is clockworking, knowing the setting will change, remains are still intact, nothing is spilling out of you and warmth is at an arm’s distance.

if agony seeks no permission, why does joy demand authorization?