Doomed

it is midnight

but there's still people on the bus,

in pairs, groups, talking, laughing -

while she rides alone, in silence.

she probably feels like crying, and she

does try, but not a tear drops down.

people dry up too, just like dead grass.

the same train goes through the same

station, the same motions, the

opening and closing of doors, the sound

of the pressure of the air.

she walks the same streets,

but at night, nobody around now,

nothing but a full mind

and the heavy weight of being, breathing sometimes.

the way home again. another city, country,

another continent. she barely looks at the sky.

it is dark, and it's saturday, and quiet

and capable of nothing -

I have to watch her go away.