Torn leather seats,
Dusty windows,
Caked with dirt.
Litter strewn across the floor,
A mess.
A hundred miles per hour,
This train speeds through,
The sound of the tracks,
Ringing in my ears.
I'm alone in the cabin,
The musty air,
Making my eyes water.
It's pure torture,
Forcing yourself,
To sit in,
Something that represents you,
Even to the most minute,
Detail.
Across the roads,
Lakes,
I'm safe in the cabin,
Or so I thought.
The speed,
Of the train increases,
So does my heartbeat,
Everything is parallel here.
There's no undo button,
I had never wanted,
To board this wreck,
Of a train.
Lack of better word,
Jinxing my fall.
Veering off the track,
Into a pit of despair,
The train drops into it,
And so does,
Every single,
Part of my broken,
Trashed body.
Will anyone notice,
That I was gone?
Or will they be relieved,
That they no longer,
Have to paint on their facades,
To entertain,
Someone so,
Out of their league.
The train,
Breaks apart midair.
I heard,
The shattering of glass,
Or was it just,
My pained heart,
Falling to the pressure,
Put on it?
The seats are ripped off the floor,
The dust pours out from,
The vents,
I'm covered in,
The revolting,
Remains,
Of what was me.
The last train,
My last straw,
Ripped out of my hands,
It didn't slip,
From my strong grip,
Ripped away by,
My woes of the world.
Cold,
I see the icicles forming,
On my arms, nose, face,
As I fall deeper,
So does the temperature.
Freezing me to the core,
My heart is mended,
By the coldness,
Of my heart itself.
The painting I drew,
On the canvas,
Was a lie.
Pouring the ice cold water,
The paint comes right off,
I was lied to,
By them,
By myself.
