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.