End of the Line

Bricks settle deep, as the day’s toll attacks,

the weight on my shoulders, like time off its tracks.

I slump on the bus, an empty void seat,

where echoes of labor send shivers down heat.

A whisper of fatigue weaves through my bones,

with thoughts gathering dust, like forgotten phones.

The ache in my spine, a map of my trial,

tracing the hours spent in mechanical style.

Yet with every stop, I release and let go,

cracking the tension, I’m free with the flow.