On the line.

I'm standing somewhere on the line
between light and darkness.

There are no forces pulling me forwards other than hope.

Behind me, beings clogged with the intoxication

of my rotten attitude 

grope at me.

Faces smile and frown.

Light plays through the glass ceilings 

and startles me.

I'm on a train.

There's a girl in front of me.

Etiquette demands I don't stare at her

So I look at some far-off point in the distance

with a distant, removed gaze -

a poor man's Byron.

She probably has a boyfriend.

The skin on my elbows is blistered 

so I can't feel the water.

I might jump in and be boiled to death;

not too unlike the proverbial frog.

I guess in life one must take chances.

But how many chances must one take?

I'll try harder to resist these repulsive forces

which keep me removed.

A certain amount of objectivity is required to remain sane,

but I feel like shaking loose my sobriety for once.