Mantra

He walked into the night
Knowing he had to get away.

Each step he took
Reminded him of the words.

Bitch, Bastard, Arsehole, Whore
He repeated the 4 like a mantra
Bitch, Bastard, Arsehole, Whore.
‘Till he reached the railway line.

He stopped. Knowing to step over the track
there would be no going back.

Like a line drawn in the sand.
Once he would have stopped,
but now he took the step.

On the other side he turned to look at his past.
The barrier came down and a train
rhythmically clacked by.

A different mantra now he’d made the break
Going, going, gone
Going, going, gone.