Day Ditty

Sometimes it's like i'm afraid to go anywhere at all, for there's a small chance I may have to give up somewhere unfamiliar. What if it's me at the grocery store? I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a particular feeling, and my body shuts itself down? There I am in the produce section laying on the floor, but not bothering anyone, and with no one bothering me. Perhaps if a small child were to pass me by, he'd think it strange, but he isn't fully formed enough to understand life's weary desperations. It's unfortunate his idea of me, this measly little shit. He'll remember it- fishnet tights covering the weakened knees of a woman whose age he will never know, or remember anyway, lying on the floor of the damn grocery store. He won't even wonder why, because he won't even know how to do that much. I'll remember him for being the only human contact I had, and love him for looking into my eyes. All of the elderly women in the grocery store just in full agreement, I suppose, that someone had to do it; a dream they'd all wished they'd fulfilled. Hasn't every woman, at some point or another, given herself too fully to something else? Hasn't she lost the control of her life, and the identity of who she "is"? To really be able to just give up sometimes.. flying quickly past the moans of hysteria, and landing right on the floor of your local produce section. It's beautiful in its sincerity, but in the same way I don't know what more to write, because I'd never know how to retrieve myself from this in reality. So instead, I'm a ditty, and I carry on. Endlessly..

on a bus, picture this:

Every time I am close enough to someone else,

I either want to kill them,

or kiss them.

Today on a bus,

I was tempted to shout this,

or shout anything at all.

Oh, but to be shouting on a bus,

whoa, is me!