Take the pallor words doddering off the windowpane like melting snow
and post messages of hate distance or disdain on your clothes like armor
if it wasn't for those full heads of hair I'm sure you wouldn't scan the train everyday
they know what you're looking for
it's that glove over the heart when it's too cold
fog stalls stagnantly barking white tears
that perfect sky is too shy to show it's face
a pace similar to standing still but supine
waning doubts tossing and turning
mending stories with iota bandages
I can't help but reflect that unease
here, illusions appear like a brisk breeze
it's ok, I'll pay to see merely a smile.
