Poetry

56. about when I lost my faith in trains

dreams of trains

Stretch.
Behind the limits of tomorrow,
we are bare.
We see eye to eye,
but do not touch.

The days become landslides,
this night is where we live.
Stretch.
There is no such thing as
A beautiful past.

I mask myself with your demons.
I die every morning with the clock.
Stretch.

The infinite beckons us
through walls.
We remain chained
to adoration.
Stretch.

Don’t believe in trains,
or paths that lead to awe.
Stretch, our pain is here,
the only tangible life
we can live.

 

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