Move forward, move backward this is transit-ion


If my life was a bus route, you would be lost for I am still searching fumbling stomping out a way to make it through this life for I can’t seem to find the right bus or bus stop but find myself in circles around and around and around riding a bus with the same view overcast skies and overcrowded sidewalks and I feel so alone so broken so confused are these roads and when I decide I need to change to move to get off the bus there always is that one


Always that person explaining everything will be okay that roads shift bend extend and you will find your way ignore the people getting off the bus for everything will work out everything finds the morning of the day as long as you stay


On the bus moving forward moving backward for this is transit-ion


I keep changing my mind so my route has been discontinued and I keep wondering if the flickering late night lights are where I want to be because my bed is calling me and I just keeping tripping on the curb falling falling falling hard concrete with skinned palms bruised knees I managed to catch a fleeting glance a fleeting hand and a dollar for my troubles for time wedges into my skin and my memories bear scars growling snapping while I try to find


That one person that will sit next to me so we can compare lives, faults, thoughts, scars that have snaked along my skin until they seem more like tattooed handprints and empty promises so I need that one person to pour in a few meaningful catchphrases so when I keep going


Moving forward moving backward for this is transit-ion


Clattering my words as loose change into the toll bucket and I hold on for I never really know where I am going but I keep trying new things finding new routes collecting new names until I am a scrapbook of experiences and my lonely tongue wants to spill out the stories until I am left drowning in happiness and for once I won’t use the word lost to define me and for once


That one person that is preaching, pandering out how everything is okay wailing out his scriptures of self-acceptance on billboards the size of pamphlets for hope isn’t dead but been reissued and cleaned up and the funny thing is my routes all my travels have left me searching for hope


For this is transit-ion


And I am moving into something new but I am still lost and I want to know that hope is there waiting like a shiny new present that my life will finally come together and maybe that is the point I will start to smile again maybe then these scars will mend together into one story one passion for change can be a cold partner with nothing to say until it is time for you to leave

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