Member-only story
Riding Thousands of Trains
Escaping My Stations
I ride thousands of trains,
And I saddle up my sorrow.
I ride on the clouds of my cigarettes,
With only one bag that I borrow.
Inside, there are titles of my loved ones,
Those who were my dear yesterday.
My train speeds on, oh so fast,
Chewing on the flesh of the distance on its way.
It devours the fields in its path,
Swallowing trees in its rage.
It licks the feet of the lakes,
Asking me for my ticket and my stage.
The train inspector asks about me,
And my destination and my fate.
Will I ever reach a final stop?
Or just wander, a vagabond in this state?
The hotels of the world don’t know me,
Nor do they know my loved ones’ names.
No platform to call my own,
I seek them in all my journeys and games.
All my stations, I escape from,
Fleeing, fleeing from myself.
My stations, they run away from me,
As I ride on this train of stealth.
