hand me the bag
full of your dreams
dreams to your dark abode
nonsense streams,
numbs your head
with lost ambitions
of the dead.
wondering
how, oh when will it happen,
the return of the curb assassin
to cross that line in your mind
tonight, to leave it behind
lending the whacked thoughts
an impatient hope that rots
taking
the strands of loneliness
away from the acquiesce
as trains smoke
run over the metal joke
near my house
all night throughout
while i lie on my creaking bed
thinking of reluctant slumber instead
waiting for the certain dawn
from my fate my self withdrawn.