(escapril, day 3: incorporate music)

Memories of happy times leave

An acrid smokey sting in the back of my throat

as they burn in the fire of my regretful consciousness.

I don’t want it to be over.

I want to stay in the interminable ‘and then.’

I used to cling on to my bedframe

Like a scared child, a wounded animal,

Bare my teeth and hiss and resist with all my paltry strength,

Spitting blood, feeling the hitch in the melody

Under my bones-

That was a different kind of fire.

Now it’s just how it goes.

I get whisked away to somewhere new,

Somewhere not at all different,

Somewhere everyone looks at me funny.

I slip in the back, keep my head down, no raising my hand.

Playing it safe -whatever that means here; wherever ‘here’ even is.

But when I look up,

Everyone’s still looking at me funny.

I get fed up.

Find someone softer, easier prey

A quick little shove redirects attention

And they’ll stop looking at me funny.

Stomping my feet slightly off rhythm,

Blend into the woodwork,

So easy to sit in the back of the bus

As someone else’s crunching under it.

I just think it’s kinda funny.