i'm staring out the window,
but instead of the highway,
all i can see is myself.
i smile because it reminded me of that time with the train.
maybe i wasn't scared of it's motion,
but of my own reflection.
this is different now, though.
i am not wet
and sticky,
sweet with the sweat of boys that
would ignite my spirit for ten hours,
boys that would swing a microphone,
and stand in the background of pictures they'll never be a part of.
i don't know why i try to see my surroundings anyway.
i know too much of this city
to feel the power that it brings.
that rush of excitement as your heel catches on the icy sidewalk
halfway to the club,
the slosh of beer and the stumble of legs outside of the door.
it's a blessed mess-
oil atop a sea of medicaid and bus cards.
i sigh and you ask what's wrong
not verbally, of course, because technology has taken over your mouth.
"just lost in thought," i coddle, no need to worry.
(am i assuring myself, or you?)
i turn back to this slate of ice
and drink in the peppered snow and supple concrete
that's just waiting to cause a slip,
break the skin,
smear the blood.
i desire the beauty of it all.
i ache for the pain.
