`Endless Night Dark Poetry Contest

The Bus


I am arriving, the bus just stopped driving.
The doors go open, I can see the street is white.
I head out and go stand there in the light.
But when I turn around, I see me in the bus, sitting in that save corner.
In the shade.
Where I pretend to be unafraid.
Did I really went out or did I stay?

Oh, I don’t know, it!
I have to admit.
I hope this message will transmit into your brain.
Like some sort of electrical strain.

Tensión eléctrica!
En el cerebro!

The doors go open.
But still I’m broken in that same old corner.
I remain in the bus, not having any rush.
On my time, I will come out of that bus.