“Would you consider yourself to be a masochist?”

“Well–”
I reflect,
“I’m still alive, am I not?”

– “Masochism”

LL.

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Chased by a train
Down a straight tunnel with no end in sight
No choice but to keep running
And running
Over steel tracks spelling out limbo
In the blinding dark.

I don’t understand how a human is supposed to outrun a train
Running as fast as it could with its little legs
Slabs of meat barely tenderized by the effort to drag themselves out of bed and take a bath
Wind rushing over your head
Eyes shut
Still, running.

Lungs, filling with air
Breathed in heavy gulps down a throat constricted by time
Breathed in highs and lows
Over and over again, your own breath breathed in as if there were no one else’s to breathe.

As if the tunnel is all you’ve ever known.

As if the grinding wheels, the hum, the vibrations are all you’ve ever felt.

As if the light occasionally appearing in the distance has settled into a mirage brought by the haze of hedonism and regrettable decisions.

“You’re not alone.”
But it sure feels lonely with sweat in your eyes and numbness in your calves.

If a scream echoes from within a tunnel and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Still, running.

– “Haze”

LL.

There is a room with six walls
Wooden flooring or ivory, matters not in the least
Chipping paint, towering, an innocuous shade
Cobwebs in the shadows behind the captivating light

A redundant soliloquy
Hurls from the belly of the beast
Atop the melody of the crickets
Blanketed by the darkness of stagnation

A hand reaches out, cups the light in its palm
Perhaps the claws of a lion, perhaps the untrimmed fingers of a child
Silence dims to a uniformity
Thoughts find solace in the irregularity of a dream

The rain does not fall
beyond the room with six walls;

Here, the thunder learns to be.

– “The Room with Six Walls”

LL.