poem 2 : train poem

I got through the train journey as if in a mundane dream, in a tense clot, waiting to choke back my vomit but never quite having to do it, reading my book eyes locked with the pages and the texture of the pages I mean the very fibers of the paper repeating with ceaseless variation was calming me down like touching a wall when your legs give when ur stomach churns when ur cunt hurts because u ‘reclaimed’ another inch of systemic violence tripping on the way home missing the fact that the pavement is rough slowing you down because your thoughts race because they come, come, come smooth knowing nothing of blood brain barriers like thick black waste fumes on a Moscow highway that taste like nearly no memories left that tastes like all possibilities for disruption have been exhausted that taste like no future no future no future no future no future no future and (no) despair. I can’t look people in the face because they drain me because they remind me that I’m never not tired and never not fighting back and I don’t know what they want from me and what I should do so either I mirror them right back or plan my escape my cut through route to my next home never not on my way towards an alone horizon of my perfected, my faultless, my meticulous one way out.

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