nostalgia for the future

11:18 pm, bus trundles

cool air on face, fatigue

sets in, slight

nausea

(three square meals today, imagine)

wind smells of freshwater

and then suddenly of

high school chemistry lab

scent of smokeless oxidation and

artificial wood painted black

how many times, your moist cool hands

holding your chin

did you reflect on your plans 

plans of starvation, plans of destruction

what you will do tomorrow, next week, next year

slash with scissors

first introduction to the bliss of minor pain

(now, forearms are far from pristine)

despair, heightened by

the cold cold smell

no matter, that is past

wrench yourself back to your seat on the bus

a few more stops, you ring the bell, step off

climb the hill, faithful legs

are stronger than ever before

you have promised yourself

you do not have to remember

you do not wish to remember

you do not remember a single thing