The bus stalked and stopped right beside me.

I subconsciously got on; my mind on academic things,

My stomach filled with buffalo wings.

My mouth still felt the heated zing.

Hers must have been filled with pills,

For fun and thrills or purpose to kill,

The effect was the same; a small panic.

Her lifeless body torqued with the movement of the bus,

A word wasn’t spoken by any of us.

Her friend quiet in concentration,

I wonder if he wished she’d hurry to her final destination.

A perfect stranger, kind and forgettable

She was the only one who would ask.

Was she okay, what was her task?

Jokes about her illness with the booze came about,

Laughter from humans who should have a snout.

Pigs, the lot of them, uncaring about a strangers fate.

In my minds eye, it was too late.

I saw her into convulsion, her lungs led to corrosion

Why did she take the pills? Were they even real?

Or just an excuse of a different drug of choice,

A needle that sings to them like angels voice.

A pulse was felt, barely there. If her eyes were open,

How those green eyes would stare.

But to where?

What drug knocked her so close to the reaper?

Death never takes a holiday.

“The paramedics are on their way,” I heard the driver say.

I walked home. Will she make it to hers?

Death missed the bus today,

But tonight where will her head lay?

Her own bed, a cell or perhaps a grave?

Will she be on her way home,

Or to the city of woe, by way of Charon?

For thrills, she could have been killed.

For trying to get killed, she merely was thrilled.

I wonder what made her ill

As I stare outside my window sill.

Death missed the bus today.

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