The urge finds me
On the bus staring out
at the fireflies
Rushing by
Little dots of light
Mimicking the stars
That will burn out one day too

It groans in my chest, a sadness that yawns, tired of staying there.

I want to take my nails and drag them down my chest, reach in to grab the pestering organ that squeezes my lungs with the force of its
inhale and exhales.

Ba-bump.

Ba-bump.

Ba.

Bump.

I want to feel it ooze in my hand as I crush it. I want to end the hurt it brings.

BA.

BUMP.

I want to throw it in the street and point a finger
So that all may see
That nothing will hurt me anymore.

But the wound remains sore
and the absence only leaves more

room for the yawn to reverberate.