Locomotive

It’s like you’re on a train
But you don’t know where you are supposed to get off.

Every stop passed feels like a lifetime missed
And it’s all your fault because you’re too busy thinking
About the final destination, the untimely termination
Of this train that won’t fucking slow down I mean Jesus
The chugs of the pistons only get louder
The billows of smoke grow darker and darker
So that every mile you have to look harder
Out of the window until you’d rather just
Jam your fingers between the doors and
Wrench them open,
Launching onto an un-real platform with a splat.
Out of the train your own terms.
God, you’d think to yourself, that would be terribly dramatic.

So you just sit there soaking
All of it up like a wet sponge on the verge on rot,
Too stubborn to ask anyone—