top of page

bus ride

Too many acute lights, aggressive, flashing, repetition and sound, too many screams, too many laughs and the police car, hurt my ears, hurt my eyes I need a black hole, too many fake colours, no shade, no shape, where is life? I hit the wall, I hit the ceiling, I hit and hide I don’t fit, I don’t know the dance, nobody taught me the moves, I hit people people hurt me. I don’t know how to fit anymore, my filter is off, I can see and I see that it is painful to see. Nothing makes sense, air and ground, all fake all traced all choreographed. My switch is off, I’m dysfunctioning, unplugged or deplugged, I can’t pretend anymore, I used to know the moves, did I? Wasn’t I giving up to the play I knew it was fake, I knew I was acting. My switch is off, I don’t know how to not care anymore, I don’t know how to choose to ignore anymore and I don’t know how to deal with it and find a way to fit. I don’t have a line anymore, I disappear under one more layer, I’m just a witness. I come back home breathless and crack. Big city life.

bottom of page