During

A little question is rioting in my mind,
making me wonder if this is stupid.
Maybe this is just one of those times,
and then I'll be back.
But maybe that was never you,
maybe you were never back,
maybe the real you stayed somewhere
while the other put on a show.
My body is shaking as the moment gets closer,
I can feel myself dissolving.
I am dissolving, melting
into the moment,
into this time
which only has room for me--
all others got off before this stop,
but I am here, confused and scared,
will somebody stop me?
Don't they know I don't actually want this?
Don't they know I feel frozen outside, but
like chewed gum on the inside?
Why do they keep sitting there,
not questioning my motives,
me and my words,
me and my feelings.
Why
don't they
just give me a call
write me a line
show that they hear--
deliver me before I deliver this sentence--
too late.

Back home!
Songs of Me
...
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