I’m the little train that could.
Travelling down the mountain when
on tracks barely accustomed to
the avalanche of blood.
I left the hilltops where we were
to dance like martyrs,
my hardened soles pressed against
your lips so parched, head against
my heart and I’m pounding,
between my outstretched arms.
All my wheels groaned and began to
as volcanoes erupted,
and flora felt the corruption its
existence had raised.
Go, you exclaimed, there’s simply no
chance you can
Rinse yourself of these haunted,
And so began the
race of my life, not from the
flames but rather,
I’m the little train that
could, but had you
I would have settled for
burning alive beside you.
Instead I’m sentenced to
barreling through a
before they’re warned of