I felt the wheels humming under my feet
as they dragged us home. Keeping the traction
because we didn’t quite know how.

“Do you ever learn a goddamn thing?” I asked, 

not entirely sure if the question was directed toward 

you or my own passenger seat filled with fallen
ashes and apathetic movement.

Phantom hitchhikers on a free falling highway
haunting the tired sinners as they stumble to their
beds wondering at what point in time that sharp
corner got there and why they can’t seem to get
through their path without damaging a knee cap or shin.

The bed bogarts comfort and you spend your days
seeking a moment alone with the damn thing.
Sleep is fleeting and comfort is stationary.
“Please don’t leave,” the bed whispers, “Stay
a little while longer. Bring your world to me.”

But sinner, I saw you. I saw you yesterday
in mirrored walls. Slurring your speech to the heavens.
pleading for a moment away from the fire. The devil
giggled like a school girl in lust, knowing the heavens
weren’t listening. Like a 911 call in vain, the operator
has turned a deaf ear to your promise
just as you soon will, sinner.

Sara Khayat was born and raised in Los Angeles. She is currently a 22-year-old creative writing major at California State University Northridge. She is editor-in-chief of Paper Plane Pilot Publishing (thepaperplanepilots.com).