one woman sitting on a bus
much like death
watching nameless streets and faces pass by
much like death
no one looks in a bus
to see whats inside
just whats offered on the glass
much like death
more like hell
visits dont come to the woman
she only sits and waits
for her turn to come out
her veritable hell
her death
her ride
will anyone notice her
will anyone notice her death
will anyone notice her ride
she steps off just like everyone else.
walks to the places she was destined to
no radicality in her footsteps
pacing her steps in even motion
not to be noticed
she ventures to places known only to her.
where sweeping dreams are all but reality
and everyone is her friend.
everyone notices what goes on.
she wakes to do the same routine
one woman sitting on a bus
much like death
always in different clothes
never quite the same
she goes to unremarkable places
and visits indeterminate faces
no one recognizes her.
much like death
much like a bus ride
she stands and exits the bus
so many times before
the air is different this day
the one woman walks just like everyone else
to the place she was destined to
with the same lackluster steps
only to be stopped by something remarkable
something utterly eye opening
it glitters in the night sky
she looks at her bland clothes
and notes the crimson spilling out
spattering her nondescript shoes
much like death
much like a bus ride
she fades away
not to be noticed
not to be forgotten
