I lean my head
against the window pane.
The rattling makes my head bounce,
so I press my head harder
against the cold glass.
I'm comfortable there,
with senseless lyrics
swilling around with my evening thoughts.

Through my season-stained pillow,
all I see are fences
lining every route
and following the angry toots.
The air is filled with defences,
people feeling the need to
justify their actions and apprehensions,
usually to themselves.

I wish the driver could take more care
because my head is starting to ache
more than my neck can take.
I’m inside my own thoughts again,
time takes so long
and I'm not judging right or wrong
again.

Is there really something more to this
life?
Or do we just say 'fuck it'
and live for the moment?
Surely hindsight will tell me,
so why the hell do I worry.