run out

you’ve seen it
at least thrice now.
how and when
I run out of track. how my train
of thoughts just can’t
go any further. the spirit is willing
but the vessel is so weak.
I don’t want to
leave you, but I must retire.
when I’m off the rails for too long
everything stops
making sense,
myself most of all. even you
can’t help me sleep
when you’re reduced to a message
on a screen. the wind whistles
like a steam engine
around my little attic room.
stop the world, I gotta get off.
Morpheus – not to be confused with
his elder sister –
is calling my name.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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