this air tastes like plastic & pain
& i'm so scared to leave here again
i won't go out 'til there's the tempo of rain
it's safe in the familiar pit-pattering rain
it's safer in the bleary dark-where
faces are shadows on a fast-fading train
i can hide away here where i'm bleeding & bare
here in the subtle, silent state of watching a life pass by
i contemplate the masters of the puppet-passers-by
strangers striving to toe twisted, straight lines
breathing & bowing to sentient strings on particular cues
from behind so many hoods & dark shades
i spy on a world i don't know that's made of charades
the feeling won't fade, it won't blow away —
not 'til the tempo of rain is steady like my dismay
i'm growing a dirt-festering fear of a place i don't know
it's a gangrenous root hiding under white snow
& the fear & the feeling won't fall away 'til i'm laid very low
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