Some days I stare into tube tracks.
The speeding train implores me to
Embrace the approaching shovel;
Scooped up in arms of steel and glass,
Steal the chance to forget wasted
Chances. On the platform needles
Burgeoning behind vacant eyes,
Busy windows flash by: blank souls
Glimmering with more life than mine.
I, two days running on one meal,
Break down – an unwanted reflex
Reflects familiar regrets.
From the platform to the dark zone,
On alcoholic fumes alone.
Vapours coerce to confess:
Ghosts are still here, four years no less.
I am too brittle for this world,
For it whittles me to a wisp.
The glass briskly captures my face –
An image stolen by the train.
As the smudge is swept away, I
Pine for things I will never have.
“Wrap me in arms warmer than steel,
So I’m bound not to speeding glass!”
My whisper slides down the tunnel
Chasing the fading carriage glow,
Leaves me with a breeze and shadow.