Home > train ride > Crossing the lines of indulgence

Crossing the lines of indulgence

Who can understand the human mind? The heart is easy to understand, but the mind? Perhaps it is the heart that confuses the mind. Might be the alcohol content of the rhyme that gets them every time.

Sour back your whiskey and keep your damned lips dry. Don’t slug it out from the pajama farm because I just don’t have the time.

She is a special kid, alive, golden. Golden in the sense that her virtue lies in the mud, reflected by the setting sun. Horse trots over her imprint like a dime shoe, no one stops to care. Listen to her stare, it isn’t right, that sound. Trebling all the way down the remnant of my spine. Cloak gentle fingers clasp at the throat, a silent syllable of goodbye escapes.

I never made any money that way. Not even running guns could keep the appetite filled,sated like a cow grazing, grazing until there is nothing left on the stark horizon, not even sunlight.

Don’t dish it out girlie. I know you. I see you. I see through your mirrors and clouded eyes.  It is a lie and it always has been. Only love has ever found me. Sweet redeemed love of a virgin blind. That was long ago, and now you enter the train ride like a big show, but you don’t know and the cracks in your fingernails peel like a thunder cloud on a winter day.

A bottle of comfort, of liquid rye. Of scotch and a warm broth a bed to have her by.

It is all a hopeless dream.

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