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You hijacked my thoughts on the third stop of a frosty, inclement day,

the rain struck in a sideways motion parallel to my lost inertia.

You had passed me by like a blindsided man outside a morgue,

I felt misplaced in the world without you to sit by me on the sidewalk.

You walked in on my life with no fanfare, I didn’t feel a murmur,

and left on the back of a flimsy promise from a fragmented man.

The sounds of the stops flicker inaudibly in the derivative background,

I am straining to hear the fanfare now, I want so badly for you to

announce to the world,


You’ve always been here my darling,

you planted a seed that never decided whether to poison or to grow.

The seat is cold against my tremulous touch,

how are objects so alone when in my memories you hold them all ransom?

So this is what you might call the last stop in the predetermined line,

I’ve heard it called the crossroads but there doesn’t seem to be any choice.

Pervade me, invade me, hold me to account and eviscerate me,

my body is yours to destroy.

But I ask you, on one stop of this inevitable journey,

don’t forget that I can’t forget you.

Why Do Trains Always Have An End Point? (L.B.)

(Source: 2amconversations)

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