The bus station is crowded.
People with places to go I suppose.
Cigarette butts litter the floor
And the smoke hangs
...
eyes saying nothing
growing emptiness inside
churns beneath the need
...
walking through the village
is like walking
back in time.
...
time is the distance
between
then and now
slowly
...
Sometimes
I can't spell
What it is
I need to write.
...
sweet color brightens
citrus in dancing sunlight
life in balance
...
I will bathe my dreams
in warm tears.

Brush their hair
dress them in dark despair

...