Train Wreck. A poem.

(I lay
awake.)

I’ve been hit by a train,
and my mental innards lay
strewn
over miles of track.

Don’t think of her,

because that way lies
endless
insomniac hours,
of wondering
how
and
why
she’s run me down
again;
ploughing
into my station,

the end of the line.

I am a train wreck,
crushed and bent,
overwrought and steaming.
A less than urban
tragedy,
built on years
of trauma and recovery,
and a long time need:

to be loved and freed
from
these
rails.

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