I ran from depression to the other side of the world

but it follows, of course, that
motherfucker; we are in a bus through the mountains and
the trees are spread out like velvet
hands but I am in the hollow
places of my head; there is no place
to curl up and remain there never
was, I dreamed the skin curled off
my fingers and pacified me, ripping off—blood
regurgitating narcissism, I could not say
what is outside, what travel commercial
what fervid suffering the road hitting—hitting—
girls standing at small jungle stops, the currency fucking
me over the mouth—now so many
people stare the bus rubs into my back
a sad cat dragging me across
mountains, the ocean trapped bubbling
into green / green / green, I cannot find
what has not been or
never was, we sit by the gate watching
last year I showered under duress, water-
boarding; the hostel cat followed me up
the road to the bus stop, curling around
saying—don’t go