Sometimes I dream of disasters
lazy eyes staring out the window as my imagination
slows down that taxi by less than a second,
introduce doubt into his mind before he cuts us off, and
instantly, gravity shifts.
the world slows,
slideshow moments, as
idle chatter turns to screams, the
airborne bus making right, down
whilst my eyes drink broken glass shakes,
peers
falling from sky into street, as
signs fly though windows, still turning
world
still spinning, as
I fly up,
out of my seat,
arm still sore from hitting side, trying to
remember to move enough so
neck wont snap, and
as she skids,
bus squealing to a stop,
we look around at the broken and bloody
begging God none have died,
too
frightened to look for ourselves, and
as I hobble out,
looking for help, my eyes return to the now
staring at passing lights
dreaming
of disasters
|
