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December 14, 2007
headlights glinting off the windows,
drops of water trailing down.
the cars move, carrying people,
but I just sit alone.
the lights glitter,
but itís not starlight.
the sky stretches above me,
but itís not endless.
my chest constricts, convulses, tightens.
harsh, hollow, gasping breaths
echo in my head.
a short space away,
fellow prisoners of this traffic jam
sit in their own metal encased cages.
beads of water trickle down the glass
like dew on roses,
or tears on porcelain.
the lights glint off the droplets,
reflecting in the water on the windows
and the drops upon my face.