This terminal has seats that hold me cross-legged
while I untangle my belongings
and stare at the tiles with tired eyes.
It was only last night when I smiled with loved ones
drinking white wine on the messy couch
spitting poison about our family.
Now I’m on my way back to my hollow apartment
filled with poisonous tasks and faces.
I feel less alone in an empty room.
I’ve found my body to be tangled too many times,
sat with my untangled belongings
watching the time crawl on muted TVs,
Unable to know why I even say hello
If it means to mutter goodbye as well.