Washout

I ride this full train alone

Back to a box

Four walls and silent phone

Pining for pine and dreading the drone

Of flat lines in an empty home

I can’t decide how nothing will sit in my mind

I don’t want to be alone but alone I dine

At arms lengths and hair breaths

Each one’s closer to death

I can’t decide how nothing will sit in my mind

I don’t want to be alone but alone I dine, closer to death