A Ticket Back to You

Hopping trains to getaway
don’t hold your breath
I’m not coming back.
I’m traveling through mountains
that I can’t name.

Read this letter slower
because I know this sounds insane.
But isn’t that what you always call me?
Insanely in love.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise;
think of me as a whisper when you sleep,
begging you to fall head over your heels.
I wrote your name on fogged windows
accompanied by a dagger through a heart.
My heart.

My ears are bleeding.
Your name is ringing.
Blurry vision through a ringtone
of feeble apologies leads to a ticket
back West.

An invitation for two
in the back seat of a stolen car
for you and me.

(The spacing above is off. I’m not sure why it did that.)

(© 2022 AC)

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