Maartje Sofie's "control" describes a moment of feeling cut off from everything. The world seems "lightyears away," and even the speaker's own reach has shrunk: their arms go no further than their hands. It's a small, strange image of helplessness, as if the space around them has collapsed to almost nothing.
In the last two lines, the speaker has only one place left to go: their own body. Pain is the only "transport plan," the only way of getting anywhere. The travel language is cold and practical, like a timetable, which makes the idea more unsettling. Pain isn't described as something that just happens, but as the route the speaker follows when nothing else seems reachable.
The title, "control," is lowercase and quiet, and it hints at what's at stake. The poem suggests that when everything outside feels out of reach, pain may offer a grim sense of direction. The mood is lonely, distant, and heavy, and the short, plain lines make it feel even more stark.