It is 3am and the subway is almost
empty-
The last few stragglers clinging to
The feeble light their phones emit.
The ones beyond them don't even exist
But in the night-
Shadow creatures.
Hunched over, hoisting years of
Being hollowed out-
Emptied
On their calloused skin.
In the belly of a Subway car
At 4am
The shadows march-
A funeral procession
To fall onto the punctured leather seats,
Picking at the artificial flesh.
Knowing who is shadow
Through vacancies in irises.
The lost art of being
empty
Known to those who ride the subway
In the middle of the inky
midnight-sky
These girls are rest stops
For the weary
They need to fill the
Emptiness
Inside
Like the spaces between the
Torn leather seats,
Filled with burned out cigarettes.
YOU ARE READING
We Write for Fear of Silence
Poetry{My soul put into words. Writing is how I put myself back together again. Writing is how I love.} **all poems are mine** HIGHEST RANKING: #30 IN POETRY & #1 IN TEEN POETRY
