streaming, streaking through this cloudy morning
the sound of the engine echoes from the back of the bus
half smiles, eyes barely open like the slits in these passing fences
pounding, pacing through this empty freeway
the shrieking from the windshield wipers make my skin move
conversations start and end like the route of this bus
facing, falling through these cracks in the ground
the pelting of the rain surrounds us entirely
passengers come and go like everyone before them
constantly, consciously moving through this day
passing through, I'm just a passenger passing through
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