Yes you, sure you.
For some may say your 
just a dirty shoe.
But no, to me its a glass slipper.
On a deserted track,
an empty lot.

You encase my feet and we are
riding
the trains. Which perpetually take me the wrong direction.
The opposite way
I need to go.

So what gives because
I will take you dear shoe, right now.
Otherwise its a wait.
And the gray clouds will set in.

My taste is too few,
just like my vodka.
Things seem watered down.
Not enough for me and my shoe,
my cup, and holder.

My sea glass slipper
now laying on the tracks.
Which they themselves have 100 years
of blood, sweat, and silent tears.


But I will grab you my lost shoe,
its a risk,
a jump,
and maybe to nowhere.
But well worth.

Then I will just watch the trains.
The silver bullets heading right through me.
One way only.

But see I will try it.
For near death is real and I am alive
So i have died before
and can die some more.


Dying, once, twice, or seven times again, 
they all are twins.
So I can fuel off you
as long as I can
and then I can be reborn.

Whether a miserable force feed,
a carnal match,
or a soft and quiet dismemberment.
My birth is up to you
your taste as the final say.


At least my death
shall always be my own.
So if I die again.
I scour the fields and determine
my ends based on your means.