are you there?

run after the bus,

it's going away without you again.

did you forget the last time?

the way the rain fell into your rain boots?

you drank your own bathwater

and vomited on the carpet

and told someone else to clean it up,

but no one was there.

did you choke on the dirt rinsed from your skin,

or was it the flesh and blood you washed away

upset at being pulled back inside you?

or did you even notice the smell?

you washed yourself to appease them, maybe

but they put you in a glass case

and told you to sit still,

and you thought about the carpet in your hallway.

when the bus comes back,

it'll be full of every year of your life

and they'll all look in at you behind the glass,

while you wonder if you recognize them.

you sing a song but no one hears

so you shout and see how long you can hold a scream

but your breathe gives out, it always does,

and they're all leaving now.

the coatrack empties

and you wonder why you can hear the bus

pulling away

out on the street, from in here.

you wonder if you accidentally washed everything away

in your bath

and now there's nothing left;

except, you still have eyes.

can you see what they've done to you?

or did you even notice the smell?

the silence is always full of sound in here

so you run yourself another bath.

don't run after the bus tomorrow,

don't bother,

don't you remember the last time?

the sun will drip into your rain boots.

when you stop washing

maybe you'll notice

the glass walls

are breakable.