what tomorrow brings.

ii. the ache of time.

ii. THE ACHE OF TIME.

i count by twos when my nerves get the best of me. when i take the morning train, the same, dirty pile of clothes lay still on the tracks. i wonder how they came to be. when one shoe appears at the edge of the bold, yellow line; that's when my twos kick in.

two, four, who do you belong to?
six, eight, did you find a peaceful way to leave before it was too late?

my mind never can wrap around such a vivid image. one where a body is hit with such a force that you do not feel a single thing. one where you can stand the whistle of the train growing closer and knowing that the tracks will only ever end here. who is the one to clean away the blood? the dismembered body of yours? do they leave it for the rain to wash away, the tears of who you once were showering down on all that has been forgotten? i like to imagine it that way at least, it's a lot more peaceful.

ten, twelve, my hand slowly grips around the helve.
fourteen, sixteen, my eyes trace the scene.
i no longer wonder why you do it.
i no longer search for the courage that caused you to
lay on the metal that rattles for miles.

i trace the rusted tracks.
one, three. i feel numb for the first time in a while.
five, seven. my forearms bleed out easily, the crimson dancing to my elbow.
nine, eleven. the growing sound of the whistle doesn't sound as scary with a blade that is covered in my own blood, carrying my reflection.
thirteen, fifteen. i lay down.
seventeen, nineteen. did you play a game of would you rather with death too?

four, two.
( i hope you get the note that i left on the door. )
one.
( i don't want to die alone. )
zero.


this is how it all ends,
my own crimson staining the steel of these train tracks.
dismembered, blood shed,

forlorn.
a nameless pile of dirty clothes
melting into the death of dim futures
under a sunrise i hope one day to hold.