The Lonesome Rail Line

The blood desiccates. I lick the scars which paint my arid skin

thanks to dull blades you dragged across,

when I tried to run away from you.

Wisdom painfully etched and tattooed. The pain, both trite and true.

Nothing will swell your eyes and have your words a loss,

like leaving a town that revels in your chagrin.

Train whistle cries out, to a stifling and sultry night.

While I sing, to my favorite bottle of wine.

Catch sight of home and its diminutive light- watch them paint the distance.

Bitterly breath in smog, begin contemplating passive resistance.

Begin to wonder if I, should cut these little blue lines- like simple twine.

Lonesome rail line- accompanied by a stranger in flight.

Crying eyes finally close, comfort creeps by my side.

And I know that I can finally sleep;

just for a little while.

Lean into the wind and crack a fragile smile,

because the essence of adventure seeps

deep into a man who never consults pride as his guide.


The Sun and Moon painted the skies on my traveling days,

until my heart found its new home.

Taste the salted breeze’s kiss and dip my feet,

suddenly realize- I’m just a man living on the street.

The velvet beach is mine to roam,

without your soft whisper to set me ablaze.
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