The train
****** to wait for me as i count my steps
Going away
And returning
It always passes
Waiting for me to suddenly be stuck to the railroad
Waiting for me to never hear it
I think the train follows me but that's foolish
So i stay cradled in my words, veiled by the moon and my alternating fictitious emotions,
Wanting to be young forever
For being stuck in this timeline just makes everything beautiful.
My ****** youth makes bliss out of misery and condemns my joy for it to be kept for moments like these,
Retrospective of my self, time and the right way to be,
Startled by my conflicting sentiments,
Young anger of the frustrated, power hungry and discontent,
But grateful, for what I've lived and seen.
This is no note or ode to death,
Just a gentle message that i am well
And that I've been and felt plenty
So if thy mark of the end would think I'm ready,
I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't beg to stay in the remnants of me.
But if there's more to breathe than what I've had then, I'll inhale happily.
For the train to or not to hit me,
I'll have to keep waiting,
I promise i am not glamorizing, pain or anger or even lucidity
I am simply accepting comfort, commodity, a vile of short bliss before morning comes in emptyly.
I won't plaster this on the eyes of people to see but rather keep it, treasured antique of my immobility while I for once enjoy living, morbidly, but truly.