We run across the tracks,
A horde of desperate children.
Our tears are raked off our cheeks
By the wind that slams into our faces.

Crouching, cowering, gritting our teeth,
A fruitless attempt to make ourselves smaller,
To dodge the never-ending stream
Of lead teeth that eat into our flesh.

Gripping the clammy fingers
Of our only hope,
Until they are pummelled into the floor,
And we leave them behind.

We live to impress,
We walk a tightrope every day.
God help you if you fall,
Because you are on your own.

They’ll only hold your hand
If there is something in it.
They don’t love you,
So just keep running.

Running, running,
Stretch out your fingers,
To the other side.
Because when you fail…

Well at least you can say
one part of you made it…
Right?

my hometown waits for me
like a lover
on the wrong side of a passing train window.

ill be back
but i wont be the same.

and we'll both be disappointed
in each other.

look up-
there's the ceiling
with its memories
of people passing
under and through
switching trains
exchanging hearts
if you close your eyes
you can hear the goodbyes
and the whistle of
the train as it puffs away
and beyond sight
there is so much beyond
sight and i'm running
up and down the stairs
here at grand central
station looking for
someone to hold my heart
maybe love was on the train
that just drove away
or maybe i'm just a little early
i check my watch
and the grandfather clock
dings.
i am not alone, i am with
a friend and so many strangers
and my friend looks at
me and says 'are you ready?'
i don't know if i am ready
i like being in a place of goodbyes
but she says to me that
goodbyes are only the start of
a hello and i guess she is right
but i can't help but think
if you were here with me
holding my hand
watching lovers part and
mothers cry
how wonderful it would be
to be the ones who have gained,
not lost-
watching others say goodbye
while we're just beginning
to say hello.

The exchange of smiles
The greeting nodded
We return to our papers
No words needed

My brain is a train,
Left the station in the rain,
Crashed directly into pain,
Now derailing and deranged.

Who drove onto the tracks?
Put their car into my path?
Now I’m burning in the grass,
Watching everybody pass.

No one’s calling 911,
Do they think I’m having fun?
They look like they cannot see,
Now they’re walking straight through me.

And I just can’t believe
I can’t get up to my feet,
I’m drowning in gravity,
I’m just another tragedy.

I jump off of the train into the arms of the adrenaline that I crave. He is the poison that makes me feel alive. I keep jumping off of more trains, trying to catch the high. Falling into the arms of adrenaline  once again. He pulls me down and leaves me with bruised limbs. And the angel that saves me again and again  whispers soft words Into my broken mind. Her words flow as she tells me that it isn’t the adrenaline that I want most.  It’s the antidote. And I looked up poison in the dictionary and found your name. You were just another train. All you do, my darling, is cause more pain.

delayed, service changed
we are the trailblazers
struggling through stone and soil
and motor oil slicks,
slip on the gap
WATCH IT!

we are the city rats,
scurrying between streets,
along rails that could **** us
and that have.
service changes, trains collide
we take deep breaths, and swipe,

we cant swim so we'll slide
through sunken subway lines.
at show time we'll roll our eyes
but smile on the sly.
we're in this **** together
so delays aside, we ride.

Coffee blotched wool woven seats
Impassive solidarity on your ***
Dank rapidness
Screeching scream let loose as we transend
Through bleak blackness
Thoughts stream
"Wisdom teeth dont make you any brighter"
"But Starbucks coffee makes my stomach..."
...turn left
Stale air in my every crevasse
The doors to the train open
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary may rest on, float on
Shallow jolted perfume
As cucumber melon intoxication erupts
On undetermined destinations
Aspiring poets gaze
Out into the open world of
Twinkling city stars
On curved paths
On dipped forks in the road
"All passengers must exit"
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary return home