Death of the poet

That shit can't be bothering me. When the train is calling. The sun is boiling, it's so cold, if you think about it. Nights without my blanket, or an arm to hold. I got a feeling I would never get old. The scaredom is bigger, bigger everynight. I am waiting for them to lock me onto this belts I see in the movies That may not be finished. How long do I have to wait, to fear and to blame. I wish I don't have to wait.