this is our world.
rotting wood, metal bars.
we are pioneers, perched between cold lines.
these are the lines between self-medication
and self-destruction.
this is what separates us from them.
this is the way we bite our nails and can't look each other in the eye.
this is for the secret smiles.
this is for a taste of freedom.
but the tracks slow,
they stop,
and we don't move.
we are carried.
the hands three rows back flutter nervously...lovers' hands.
the mouth across the aisle spits excuses...a wasted life.
we will never grow up.
we can't see the lights, we can't hear the sirens.
we can only see the other side.
and when the reflection aligns,
it's four shadows.
us versus the world.
this is our escape.