Baby I am out of light,
I wish I could pour into your soul
The kerosene that simmers the butterflies in my stomach.
I think of the acid churning in from the ducts, charring the lonely wings in my gut into
So many pieces of nothing that I wish
I wish train lines winding down
Forgotten villages while they slept would
Carry in tiny pockets of sleeping passengers
A tiny bit of me.
In every suitcase, bound to your destination a
Piece of me goes over the bumpy carriage rack
You’ll assemble me when the day is over,
You’ll be waiting at the station, placard in hand
That reads “all the love lost in translated words, disconnected lines and timezones.”
All the passengers will drop in your hat,
Jagged pieces of my soul.
Then, one selfish bastard will have had no time
Rushing away with his briefcase in hand, carrying my soul
Along to his appointment with reality.
And you’ll think of chasing after him,
Before you dump the incomplete puzzle that is me,
On the tracks to be run over
As collateral damage.