Please, do not cross over.

-

i am the railroad tracks that cradle
your dehydrated skin, a mouth full
of pasty white rocks, ears bleeding
from the whistle of an oncoming danger.

my eyes are steel stars, only able
to witness tragedies, as the sky falls
and roars like the milky way is
swallowing every particle of life.

these legs burn from exertion, from
freights rolling over me and pounding
my muscles into place. i am tormented
when twilight moans and coyotes howl
and i see your frail nineteen-year-old body
kneel down at my feet, holding nothing
but a dirty razor blade.

you are not meant to be a dying thing, i am.
i cannot move though vulgar lights flash
and wheels crush me at ungodly hours.
you have limbs, you have a will.

(you can get back on the right track).

-
Written 11/07/14 @ 2:05 PM for my poetry class. Our prompt was to write from the point of view of an inanimate object.