What's your choice?

I hear train tracks gargle metal

the smell of traveling food heated,

doused with sauce to hide what's inside

I glance at people who don't talk 

And one's dressed up,

catering to their equals, 

so they can afford to live

I feel myself uncontrollably moving 

cold air rushing to my calves

Navy blue curtains sway 

Old tea stains on paper placecloths

Squeaks emerge in-tune with the random bumps 

but hardly noticable anymore

Up ahead I read an exit sign,

a green graphic person

But who would escape?

We are moving

Fast pace 

Fast enough to die from an exit escape

So if something were to really happen

We either die inside

or risk dying on our own outside

I guess it just depends on what type of passenger you are

But most of them are asleep.