Standing In The Bus Queue After A One-Night-Stand

My knees feel tight,
My brain inflamed,
As though it’s been rubbed in gritty sand.

My eyes are dry;
My palms are wet.
The weather seems unseasonably hot.

And though I feel crap,
I am floating,
Only attached to myself by a thread.

It wouldn’t take much
To see me leaving,
And maybe I’d never come back.

The strangers around
Are so many faces
And I don’t give a damn.

All I can think of,
Over and over,
Is a stupid song trapped in my head.