The platform is quiet when I arrive.
The walk home is long.
The road is busy with lights, but no faces.
I should have worn gloves.
Nearly there now.
Someone's home but nobody was waiting.
I pull a smile out my pocket and drop my keys,
Then I listen to words about the day.
My bed brings solitude,
While questions crawl behind my eyes.
Scraping inside my skull, they're familiar,
And I drift off on their backs.
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
The platform is quiet when I arrive.
The walk home is long.
The road is busy with lights, but no faces.
I should have worn gloves.
Nearly there now.
Someone's home but nobody was waiting.
I pull a smile out my pocket and drop my keys,
Then I listen to words about the day.
My bed brings solitude,
While questions crawl behind my eyes.
Scraping inside my skull, they're familiar,
And I drift off on their backs.