8

Show's over.
Silence consumes itself
inside the gloomed engines
of this soul dealer airplane I'm in.
I'm flying,
with this popcorn heart of mine,
praying that we get home safe
so that we can meet again,
someday.
The taxi waited for me
while I resisted
just a few more minutes
drawing trees with my hands frozen,
whilst some were walking their dogs
and you were watching the news
with anger,
no wonder
revolted.
I smirked on every station,
now all my muscles hurt.
Is it from laughing?
or the passing of time.
The scenes I rehearse,
the dialogues I recite
as if I didn't know better
that I'll never be that ready.
It all goes so fast,
like a train in loop.
A lovely 8,
like that day in November
when I didn't know what to say.

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