Moving forwards,
sitting backwards.
Always moving,
moving forwards,
trickling slowly on towards another fall.
So I melt into my seat and
the rolling hills swallow the train.
The deer watch me.
Small eyes follow the train,
who are they to judge.
The hills will get them too.
Run. They need to run.
Chase the train.
Chase something.
Running forwards.
Going backwards.
Break neck speed and,
always in the wrong direction.
The deer will watch me fall.
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