Commuters demand too much attention,
constantly whooshing back and forth
with little jobs and lives that I'll never know.
They make the world go round
like excited bees roaring past
following the only instinct they'll ever know.
It is freezing here regardless of the season
and the sound of each motorist
splashes my skin with an icy chill.
Each frostbitten nerve ending
sends a distress signal
pleading for me to take a pill.
This is day two and my skin tingles
each time my brain misfires,
sending a rush of endorphins, followed by
the battle hardened arctic temperatures
surrounding this sieged city
attacking it's weak sweaty walls.
My mind races to offer bad advice,
so I shackle it within a book
until it struggles no longer.
Without warning an armistice is called
bringing a short summer to the land
and my stomach receives evacuation orders.
Summer ends, unleashing the bitter cold,
to the sound of beeping horns and an
ominous police siren that screams condemnation
at the unlucky few that crossed it's path,
but my roller coaster is hidden by drywall,
rushing me through twists and turns,
to places that no other commuter can go.