By Anonymous

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.