Take your frames and photographs, your crumpled stained shirts of yellow and crimson,
Take away these awry arid dreams of unwelcome hours and piled up longings,
Take away your timeless, untimed watches, cell phones and batteries,
Take away everything that you do not hold mine.
Gently as a child, chided and left to wake up in the dark of the cupboard,
Where he dozed off after a real nightmare, I get up, to pick the last lying loin,
The silence of the bright florescent screeching, take me I am yours,
I lay again, sinking and thoughtless into the calm sea of nothingness.
I thought, I could not, but I did not, for it never came,
The thought, where I would think of the things I left behind,
Empty boxes as empty as the promises made out within the four walls,
Slices of thoughts left at the corridors, as marks of foot, the extinguished cigarettes.
But then all I could see was the rushing crowd, the maddening noise,
The smiling goodbyes at the railway station, the clenching pull of the engines,
The gurgle of the gushing vacuum, and the tracks, as far as I could see,