Post-war Pillbox

You cried for about as long as a freight train passes across a scenic road; tears on the tracks made to believe the world could be conquered in one long ride across the country, where you pass through an entire night with the shakes and stomach aches; a girl you used to see everyday just one sliver of moon away from a total eclipse of greater dreams and drinking women; tears coming in rivers and tributaries; a bleeding heart with an endless supply of blood; a dreaming man you could never relate to because you never slept; doomed to eternally repeat yourself whenever the world rewinds you; your crime being a chronic need for latitude; your need a story without heroes; your fame an empty theater with only one act; your pain a trustworthy person you'll never get to know; all wrapped up in a single blank space on a page with a folded end, forgotten by someone as the place where the story

begins.