Train Ride Writings

Here's what i wrote while fuming mad on the train ride home:

"We now embark on the second half of the worst trip ever. Here we find our narrator staring out the window of a slow moving train car, watching the grey skies and dirty ground fade by. She stops and picks up her pencil every few seconds to contemplate the past few week's happenings; momentarily longing for the past that rests at the train's beginning; zoning out in a mindless state of disillusionment, with Andrew Bird whistling his melancholy tunes in her ear."

these arms
thin and shivering
can't push out enough heat
to warm the thin skin, bruised bones
twisted twirling veins
ribbons of blue
these arms
wobbling around
pushing forward frail fingers
to write write write
jot down
fragmented moments of fleeting feeling
emotions and senses
intuitive intellect
these arms
are cold
sharp prickles pulsing through
not sharp enough
to connect quick wit
with cracked knuckles

i hate bridges.
crash splash.
Lord, don't fail me now.

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