Helmets

The Words:

onion, watch, helmet, lips, corrugate, lies, triumph, native, train, boot, junk

**

Tonight I sit up till the midnight train. But then, I am not really watching it. I'm just out booting the junk in my head. The corrugate packages of lies. The guilty triumphs. The filthy grime of tolerance, so native now to my mental canals that I don't know what I have left to scrub it all clean.

And when it passes, I let the scent of the onions it was carrying hit my lips. I go to lick them, and laugh. So fickle. So damn fickle, this mind of mine.

I wonder why helmets were ever invented.