A Silent Train Ride.

A dozen vacant eyes stare, mesmerised.
A focal point of pointlessness, commands their undivided attention.
From ear to ear they slump, then retreat into layers of winter apparel –

They rely on these for warmth.

The fire within is long extinguished.

“Where are we going?”

One murmured.

Another replied.

“You’ve been strapped to the nose of a nightmare, that’s strapped to the nose of a bullet train, which refuses to stop and whose horn is mocking laughter.”

“Can’t I get off?” He asked, worriedly.

“Get off you say? Do you remember ever getting on in the first place?”

The inquisitive one turns to face the window, his reflection scowls at him.

Within his many layers, he grows cold.

His gaze grows distant.

I sit and watch the sleepers, the twitchers, the gnawers and the tremblers. I see slow death creep up and down the aisle, playing fuck, fuck, you. Tapping heads and running round giggling.
At the end of the day, they all get picked and no one ever catches on.

I see the hopelessness, like a repairman at the foot of a collapsing dam, holding duct tape and arranging his snorkel.

Every seat holds two, but sits one. There’s hate in the air, its heavy, blinding, suffocating. You’re sufferable because you’re miserable. Don’t whistle, don’t hum. They’ll snuff out the early risers, the one coffee smilers, the easy day riders and the part-time rhymers.

They’ll snuff ‘em out.

I watch the moon hang in the skies above.
Having kicked the rickety stool out from under, he looks sickly yellow.
The stars cry and disappear.
The sun grows tiresome of the same faces.
I see my reflection in the window.
It cries and disappears.
I turn away to no one.

Another silent train ride.

Published by Lobster Thoughts

Poetic expression and general madness.

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