Her bags on the curb.
she leaves them there and walks away.
knowing fully that where she was going
the contents of the bags would not help her.
assuming, of course, the imaginary world around her.
who needs such bags at all.
Her sun dress blows in the wind
and her hair is swept across her face.
her feet are bare.
they always are in my mind.
always with the bare feet.
dirty with mud and grass.
The sun beams down on her,
making her skin whiter than before
and the mud stand out.
but she doesn't care
freedom these days was such an empty word
but she finally felt it.
She turns around
a train station in the middle of nowhere
a moment ago is was new, and real
but now it was old, dilapidated and fake
the green paint peeling off the brick
and vines stuck to the side, growing relentlessly.
Freedom. The sky was empty
and so was everything else.
but she liked it that way.
Maybe she was a Buddha,
and this was her jeweled umbrella universe.
But who sees an inner Buddha anymore.
its sad to think, that I daydream of being alone
in a sundress, bare and muddy feet.
with the sun and wind under my steps
and a bloody nose. Yes, blood dripping down my face
because only enlightenment could reach a place like this
and blood spilling could only engender such.
But it soon stops
and she finds herself under a tree.
not just any one though.
This specific tree.
and she sits in it's shade,
As another train pulls into the station,
its whistle echoing
but she is still alone.
in a sundress
with bare feet
muddy, and bloody
smiling in the sunlight.