The Platform

forced into the middle yet again

when I’m waiting for the train

my sarcophagus is burning

I think about throwing myself at it

the cuticles are cut out of the nails

I’m still waiting for the train

light-headedly listing the listless

a few feet away the urge flows through

now I’m void of nervousness

stabbing insides for everlasting microseconds

why the immolation?

the beckoning is irresistible it is time for mental preparedness

I’ve been suffocating in this tomb my whole life

my eyes open once more

sacrificial arbitrariness

now it’s too late, like always

nothing to live for

the vehicle has come to a full stop

my brain took the blame

I walk on

tortured by the artificial light

look around

wondering who has ever even thought the same

it never ends

13 replies on “The Platform”

The more I lose myself, I realize is the more I find myself all around me. It’s amazing when I feel in the flow of the random and strange around, passing conversations become exactly what I needed to hear, angry screams of street schizophrenics beckon me to change and to grow. ’tis a mad, beautiful holographic universe we live in :)

everything about this is great shit, except the last line, which is a cliche. You are sensitive, strong and eloquent and you speak from your core — that is all that is needed to make great art and literature. I like your poems, maybe some other poets do not. They then are the dummies.

A friend of mine just got back from train hopping all around the country and he had many a good story to tell me. It’s ironic how freedom and individuality can lead you to homogeneity with others.

This captures perfectly the sensation and clamoring thoughts that brought me into my first, brief, and last romance with train hopping. I may just have to blog about that one, in fact. My first train hopping experience in Savannah, at 19… feeling so small and far from home, dancing my nihilistic dance. I walked the platform and thought about how many times did someone stand on this very platform and share the same singular thought. Who thought it first?

somegood metaphors here; I think we all have felt this way now and then; but you ride out the storm and meet life again full on: after all it hjas so much to offer

btw thanks for subscribing to my blog: I’ll endeavour to make it worthwhile, tackling more meaty issues than bread — though it is the staff of life :)

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