A Collection of Poems and Meaningful Lyrics

Came to My Head V

i'm not really sure what this is
-

His digits dance with the nerves of an exposition on the coarse table top. A rough, uneasy wind hammers it's way through the ventilation - the late autumn breeze is beginning to become uncomfortable, unsettling almost. The soft dyad drifts as a cloud of distraction through his ears, which ache from him having worn the headphones for far too long. He's been sat for far too long. He's been bored for far too long. Restrained and thoroughly irritated. The numbness is beginning to creep down his thighs and it's only then that he realises he can't feel his feet. Whilst shifting for comfort, the carriage jolts in an unruly manner which sends him flying into table.

'Fucking hell.'

Glaring at nothing in particular, he returns to his previous occupation  - an onlooker of the violence of the wind. The flailing branches remind him of one of his favourite scenes from Harry Potter with the Whomping Willow (oh, the fun he could have with one of those) and his beating from the train is immediately forgotten.

A silence swallows the next few moments with ease.

A baby's cry cascades rudely through the tranquility - a mother's eyes dart around in a panic - and all the apparent passengers emit harmonious groans. The wails only become more apparent, and wallowing in his own thoughts becomes a challenge. He's losing patience rapidly - his eyes close in desperation.

Harsh ambers illuminating the greenery on the other side of the enclosure bring him back to the present. Switching his phone on he realises he's been sat for almost two hours. He's nearly there. He's relieved for those few seconds of clarity before he remembers he's going to need to get back.

He huffs, brows furrowed.

His eyebrows unravel slightly though, when he realises the cries have quietened down - only light coos and gurgling could be heard from the mother and child.

Rolling his wrists until they clicked (he would never tell, but the noise tended to satisfy him), he glances around nonchalantly. He's alone on the train save for the woman and a few businessmen travelling home for the night. He desperately searches for some sort of distraction. The moon would have been a beautiful sight had it not been marred by streaks of grease and dirt on the other side of the window - you have to question when the train last came into contact with clean water.
Standing groggily, he struggles down a few cars, stopping at the first cubicle he comes across.

He's in no hurry to get back - he drinks the peace for as long as he is able to - that is, before the other passengers notice he's been stood for rather a long time - before dejectedly stumbling back to his seat.