Choking on Chains

The eyes on the bedroom ceiling.
The bolts in the wall.
Full steam ahead at zero miles per.
All talk.
No action.
All thoughts.
No follow-through.
Sulk like paleface passengers
trapped in a sweltering rush hour traffic Jam.
It rains
and
it rains
and
it rains.
The roads to the South
and the West
call your name.
What's it gonna be?