hard headed believing in a light
behind the smile,
when it turns out the light burnt out in the night
or was it there at all,
you bury pictures deep into my head and I keep the total,
in a list of everything word you said
the words have lost potency in their usage
and come to think,
their failures are endless;
---
I have become a cardboard existentialist,
a repetitive patchwork of broken grids
with no direct correlation,
I sit inside the train station powerless,
pushing the pocket lint into the cracks of my fingers,
shifting in my seat, grinding my teeth,
my brain burning in an echoing siren,
the aching thought that wilts me away,
brings me to a fever when i speak,
I force my hands deeper into my pockets,
and pretend that I'm okay, recheck my relationship to the edge the platform and the city that buries me, if this tunnel collapsed on me and think that everything would be just fine.
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