The doors slid aside at Métro 1,
A interminable tube driven by an inhumane robot,
To take hundreds to their lovers, their homes, their offices.

A girl fantasying about her lover, A man scathe in love,
An old woman enamored with The Price of Salt,
facing the young man with a Kindle spirit.

A foreign girl with passion for the city,
slides through the crowd,
And an indigenous man wished he was somewhere else than here.
At the next stop a man bids a farewell kiss to her girlfriend.
And in comes a middle-aged couple,
Enters in with a hatred for one another.

I stood for my final stop,
the doors slid aside,
and I got down.

A couple of goodbye words to these swaths of strangers,
who color my dark life with smiles and tears.
"Farewell strangers, I shall meet you another day at another time."

decisions are based on forgetfulness
the agony of the sick child inside of me
i can't walk any further, i can't stay here
don't want to jump in front of an express train

the image of my little daughter is present
the way she utters the words "papa" and "hi"
papa is daddy in german, i want to live on
i want to die, i don't want to die in pity

dying an old man is better than suicide
the strings of despair are the strings of hope
route 36 / bolivia / white frost / toxic faces
glaciers of doubts / silverred bloodstream

my heart is beating on 888 beats per minute
battlerapping is a good weapon against depression
been writing against the opponent called myself
it is never about the others but about inner struggle

in long-term rehab, there are many psychologists,
speeding through the aisles of responsibility
around us are deep and darkgreen forests and hills
we are isolated from human civilization to heal

i fear the day of my return into the city of money and sins
the innocence of my two children is tattooed on my body
how could i **** their images by taking my own life?
right now, i am listening to the strings of despair and hope

by the end of the day, each letter will have become dust
a golden lion with a twinkling mane is protecting me
he is a disciple of god and thinks he is just a toy
god's power is greater than every single human act

nothingness was before him and he created nothingness

‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the homeless, old man begging for change
On the green line station me and my friends get off at to buy coffee
He turns and looks at us
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the toothless, old man on that cold winter night
As we preemptively pull out our phones and look down at the ground
A defense mechanism
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the hobbling, old man as we pass him by
Without making eye contact or even a sympathetic nod
If only I had cash on me
‘I ain’t tired!’ repeats the mentally ill, old man while we descend
The stairs down onto the pavement and into Chinatown
The snow continues falling
‘I ain’t tired!’ echoes the starving, old man
His voice ringing in my ears long since we’d left ear shot
The only time I had the courage to glance at him
He was a mess of wires and bone and cloth and paint and white hair
Older than the city I had just begun to explore and call home
Permanently on that train station yelling
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’

I’ve been on a train of anxiety.
I’m not sure when I stepped on board
or how long I was on it.
All I know is I got to a point
where my mind and body both said
“Stop this train, I want to get off”.
That sudden halt, the screech of the brakes…
I was standing but then I was floored.

I think I crawled off the train
and right now I’m lying on the platform.
People are knocking on the windows saying,
“Get back on, this is the only way
you can really get to where you’re going,”
rushing me towards somewhere.
But if I walk, I can enjoy it and take in so much more.
I can still get to where I need to be,
it might just take me a bit longer to get there.

Luckily I have the option to walk
and a handful of people who really care
and support me along the way.
But there’s still a voice in my head
that occasionally says "you couldn’t handle the train",
so many other people can.
I think I know, somewhere deep down,
that I’m not them and they might get off
somewhere down the line too
…Or maybe they’re riding a different train.

The night sky enveloped our surroundings

Eating away the outside world

With a clang of metal

And a chug of smoke

We’re sent onto a new path

A new future

Full of what?

We’re not quite sure.

For just like the distant trees that get swooped up into the darkened night

Our home before and the knowledge of what’s to come get swooped up along with it

The unknown lurks

It’s precedence looming above us

Whether it be misfortune or something grander,

it’s impossible to tell

But the option for something better

Even just a little

Well it’s worth the wild ride

Looking out the window

I see those I left behind

home, Family, friends, prized possessions

All gone, lost in the darkened night

But in the end

while the unknown can be an incredible cruel mistress

she can also oh so very kind

And her taste of hope of something grander,

Well there’s simply nothing more divine

A shoeless man aboard an expedition into the unknown
With overgrown nails bathing in warmth,
Grasping a primordial camera, searching for focus
Amidst an evermoving piece of land,
Restricted to the callous one meter pane -
All that he could ever call his own.

Cautious gazing intertwined with
Tapping feet and unkempt hair.
As a poisonous addiction engulfs the air
Of which he thinks he can breathe no more

One last breath for the journey Home.

i close my eyes
as the Metro carriage sways
from side to side
giving off that constant
comforting roar
as it flies along the
winding northern track
that ends at nowhere
special.

i used to get off a Pelaw;
the platform there seemed like
a concrete field of possibility
where love was just
on the other side.
now it seems wide,
grey and pointless.

a forlorn nostalgia washes over
me as i pass Pelaw station.
it is winter now,
and the memory of those days
warms my cold morning
mind
as i wind past it
always looking back.