Vacant

I watch with folded arms as my psyche slowly drifts away,

The sudden urge to jump through the closed doors of a speeding train,

The last place, the ruling out, the pills and failed masquerade,

The fear that sits right above the bags upon my vacant face.

And I'm thrown in, head-first, door slammed behind me,

The glass slides, coffin shuts, and feeling follows thoughts blindly,

Crush teeth between jaws as the squatter's running rings around me,

The ten thousand miles have started feeling fucking far from likely.

I stare through, He's looking back,

Retain the calm, Absorb the track.

What gave away, My state of mind?

The pale face, Or vacant eyes?

I drop ten floors and land firm, cleanly on my back,

The skyline weeps a thousand versions of this habitat,

I'll search for an excuse for why my conscious presence lacks,

Any form of notice for when my slightly twisted mind reacts.